


Short End of the Stick

by SquirrellyThief



Series: Short End [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant!Connor, Doing regrettable things while drunk, Fantasizing, Gavin as the POV character, Gavin character study, Gavin/Rejection is the real OTP here, I hate myself a little for that last one, M/M, Pining, The ship is extremely one-sided, and using dehumanizing pronouns for androids, some implied Connor/Hank bromance, unrequited pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: During his time at home, Gavin laid awake sprawled out on his couch, drowning in rum and Coke, his cat on his chest, watching the hours tick by. His hope was to narrowly avoid sleep and those recurring dreams of the office bathroom, the evidence locker, the roof, his apartment, various taxis. It was getting ridiculous.Or: Gavin really doesn't know how to handle himself or Connor or anything for that matter and winds up slowly unraveling his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a rewrite of a couple fics I posted on tumblr. Potshots (A Connor POV fic for the second potion of this one) and A Shot in the Dark (the rough draft of the third portion of this one) with a new opener and some extra little bits.
> 
> It's really only posted here on the encouragement of a friend rather than my own pride, but I do really hope you guys like it.

**NOV. 20, 2038. 03:00:12**

 

“What do I have to do to get you to be nicer to me?” Tense, fed up, frustrated. The android’s brow furrowed, arms folded across its chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gavin stood his ground, looking sideways at Connor through the mirror. He wasn’t about to let himself be intimidated by this thing. Even if it was standing between him and the only exit.

Its reflection stared him down. “This needs to stop, Detective Reed.” The formality left a bitter taste in Gavin’s mouth. Aggressive politeness never sat well with him. “I’m a permanent fixture here. We can’t just keep fighting.”

“Oh you’re a _fixture_ alright.” Gavin mumbled under his breath. He turned resting his hip against the counter. “Well, I can tell you what _won’t_ get you into my good graces: cornering me in the bathroom.”

“I didn’t want to make a scene in front of our coworkers.”

“ _My_ coworkers,” Gavin corrected.

Connor sneered at him, but the expression didn’t last long. Eight days. They’d been grossly understaffed after the evacuation order; only those who were pro-android or too stubborn and loyal to abandon their homes were still around, so Fowler let the android stay on. Of course he would. And now, this motherfucker after only being considered an actual employee for _eight days_ it thought it had the authority to make demands. Just because Anderson and Fowler liked it didn’t mean Gavin or anyone else had to.

It locked the door and crossed the bathroom to stand a sink down from Gavin in a couple of long strides. It looked so stiff like this, nearly graceless and coiled too tightly; all straight back and square shoulders. Even if it bothered to shed its LED and jacket there would be no mistaking what it was. Gavin scowled at it. Goddamn deceiver. He knew first hand that that stiffness was an act too. All of it was an act. A few lines of code in a killing machine masquerading as something adjacent to human.

It had some gall.

“Look,” Connor said, “I don’t know what your issue with androids is and, frankly, I don’t really care at this point. I just want this nonsense to stop. What do you want? An apology on behalf of my people? Me to change shifts so were never in the office at the same time? Name your price.”

“Formal resignation.”

Connor’s expression darkened.  “You and I both know I can’t do that.” Gavin felt a lump form in his throat. Something in its voice changed. “I _won’t_ do that.”

Gavin felt his resolve weaken a little. He swallowed hard, but held his ground. “Well, then it sounds like you’re fucked.” He tried to move around the android, but Connor sidestepped in front of him.

They were nearly touching.

“ _Gavin_.” It backed him up against the counter.

Gavin didn’t want to give it ground, but saw little choice in the matter. He knew what this thing was capable of. He braced his hands against counter as Connor crowded into his space, looming over him.

“I don’t want this to be difficult.”

Gavin felt a dull ache where his bruises had been, a subtle little reminder. “Well, too bad.” He said, defiant. His lip curled. “I hear a little difficulty builds character.”

Connor reared back a little. Dark eyes scanned across Gavin’s face. “Your heart rate is a little high, Detective.”

Indignant, Gavin just clenched his jaw and said nothing. He could feel his own heart hammering away in his chest, thank-you-very-much. He could also feel the jittery, nervous energy in his fingertips drumming against the counter, the oppressive weight of his jacket, the heat of being confined to that small section of counter, dryness in his throat.

Closer now, “Your pupils are dilated,” musing now, head tipping a bit. Gavin wanted to punch it or close his eyes out of spite.

“Fuck off you plastic asshole.”

“Defensive.”

Gavin balled his fist on the counter and ground his teeth together. He could get in one surprise attack and maybe ride that advantage out the door or to another concussion. Either seemed a better option than whatever was happening right now.

He sorely wished he hadn’t seen Connor’s eyes glance down. So much for decorum and diplomacy.

“I’d like to make you a deal,” Connor’s voice had dropped in pitch and volume. Conspiratory. Gavin could almost feel the vibration of the words in his bones like standing too close to a speaker at a concert.

“Oh, ho.” Gavin laughed. “This should be good.” He could at least pretend he was still in control.

Connor leaned in close. Gavin had to dig his lower back into the counter to keep space between them. “I won’t ask for much. One kiss and you stop calling me names in public.”

He tried to laugh but it was a bit too high pitched and strained for his liking. “You can’t be serious. You wanna lowball me like that? Offer a guy a handjob at lea-” His voice caught when there was a hand on his side, between his hoodie and his shirt. It sat cool and heavy at the bottom of his ribcage.

“I think what I’m offering is perfectly reasonable, Gavin.” there was some tooth to the way Connor said his name. “A display of affection in exchange for you ignoring me”

“Affection? You think I want you affecti-” He coughed, feeling Connor’s thigh slip between his own. For a few seconds his brain stopped working entirely. The whole world seemed to slow down.

“I know _exactly_ what you want, Gavin.” Could it really be called whispering if there was no breath to brush against his skin? Flirting if there was no desire on the aggressor’s side? Gavin didn’t know, but whatever it was the android was doing was getting very, very close to it. “But this is all I’m offering you.”  The leg between his pressed up just a little bit, just enough to send a message.

“Fine.” Gavin spit, his grip on the counter starting to hurt his knuckles. “Fine.” He let go and pushed Connor back enough that he could take the android’s face in his hands. Cool, unyielding plastic beneath his palms and no signs of life to show for it.  With a deep breath through his nose, he pulled Connor in.

It was a strange sensation to say the least. Somewhere between the emotionless partners of practice-kisses as a teenager and face planting against a tile floor. Lifeless, bloodless, and cold; no breath against his cheek or heat on his tongue. But Connor kissed him back, matching him step for step on a half second delay. It left an awful taste in his mouth, like taking a foam cast of his teeth for a set of braces.

Not that he had much time to focus on it. The hand on his side slipped under his shirt, cold and impossibly smooth against his skin. The android pulled itself flush with him. Contact-warm lips ghosted along his jaw and down the side of his neck. Fingertips brushed down his side, over his hip, along his belt.

The door rattled.

Connor pulled back, its free hand moving to cover Gavin’s mouth. Gavin held his breath. They stood, tangled in each other from the waist down, watching the door. Long seconds of silence save for the buzzing of the lights. It rattled one more time, a muffled voice cursed, and then footsteps trailed away.

Gavin let out his breath through his nose.

A few more seconds passed. Connor let go of his face, cool fingers brushing against his jaw and neck. It pulled at his shirt collar.

“Oh fuck.” Gavin swallowed hard. No. No, this wasn’t happening. He planted his hands on Connor’s shoulders and tried to push it away. A single, rough shove to get himself free.

Connor took him by the back of the neck and dragged him to the floor.

The fall jolted him awake. Face down, his cheek pressed to a pillow, the embroidery digging into his skin. One arm tucked under him, numb from his weight. One leg off off the couch between cushion and coffee table. “For fuck’s sake,” Gavin croaked, frustrated, tired, not even attempting to fight the urge to grind his hips against the couch a few times.

No. _No._ He was not going to get off on this.

Groping around the cushions, he fished out his phone. A second of blindness and squinting, then he had the time. Still too early to get up. Maggie had left him a few messages, but the text was too small for his bleary eyes to read. He could guess the messages. _Go the fuck to sleep_ and variations on it. As much as he loved his little sister, he sorely wished she would leave him the fuck alone. She’d been bothering him incessantly since the revolution. “Come stay with us.” “It’s not safe there.” “Be careful.” Gavin tossed his phone on the coffee table with enough force that it clattered its way to the floor.

He could move to his bedroom for a change. Try and get another hour or two of sleep. The evacuation order had granted him a temporary reprieve from his neighbor’s late night antics. For a moment he very seriously considered it, but what good would that do? He’d be just as restless in there as he was out here.

He forced himself up and off the couch anyway.

A cold shower brought him back into focus; soothed the ache in his chest and throbbing behind his eyes. He didn’t bother to dress or even dry off before crossing the hall and collapsing onto his bed. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars whited out his vision. With his eyes closed he could almost - _almost-_ feel the ghosts of fingertips against his ribs, over his hip, across his neck.

He let his arms fall to the side and stared at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

**DECEMBER, 2038**

 

“Oh god it’s still here?” Gavin sidled up to Connor’s desk. From what he could tell Anderson and his android were on their way out.

“Welcome back to graveyard, Gavin.” Anderson grumbled. “Neighbors back in town?”

Gavin flipped him off. He turned, focusing on Connor. “Whatever happened to you getting deactivated?”

“I’m a free android. They can’t legally deactivate me now.” Connor said, brow furrowing.

“Shame.” Connor might have said more, but Gavin was already walking away.

The office grew quiet for several weeks in the space between the FBI leaving and the evacuation order being lifted. Many of the desks were empty at all hours, not just during the graveyard shifts. Gavin spent hours with his head down, trying not to listen to the news, flagrantly ignoring the conversations around him. During his time at home, Gavin laid awake sprawled out on his couch, drowning in rum and Coke, his cat on his chest, watching the hours tick by. His hope was to narrowly avoid sleep and those recurring dreams of the office bathroom, the evidence locker, the roof, Gavin’s apartment, various taxis. It was getting ridiculous.

Across the office floor, Anderson and his pet had set up a joint desk space. He’d been encouraging it to embrace humanity. To make itself different from the factory line default. Connor had resisted at first, Gavin couldn’t help but overhear their little arguments. Eventually, the android started to give ground; the sterile, empty space was slowly but surely overtaken by Anderson’s clutter and nonsense. The android started to loosen up its own appearance as well, the tie gone most days, hair longer and curling around its temple.

It was _disgusting_.

The worst part was working nights, in Gavin’s opinion. When he was left alone with the androids and other problem children. His desk had a straight view of Connor’s, so whenever he looked up he caught sight of that goofy looking profile, brow furrowed with intensity and focus. Gavin’s blood boiled at the sight. With Perkins gone the station was no longer united in antagonizing a single enemy and Gavin had to get his licks in some other way.

So he focused on Connor.

“Hey, Siri, get a move on!”

“Anderson, tell your Galaxy Note 7 to get those files I asked for.”

“I get that you’re still running Windows 10, Connor, but some of us don’t have all day.”

But the android was an immovable object. Nothing seemed to faze it in the slightest. Insults rolled off it like water. Not even the faintest twinge of yellow in his LED. Every joke, every lick, refused to land.

It was bad enough that the android wasn’t taking orders. No leash for Anderson’s little pet. Oh, no. It was much too good for leashes.

Connor was scrolling through a list of cold cases, judging by the pictures, when shit really hit the fan. Anderson was nursing a cup of coffee. Gavin was just coming in for the night, a little later than usual, and he swung by their joint desk. He’d slept three hours out of the last twenty-four, his head was pounding but it had become routine at this point. He was surprised to see Anderson still there.

“Yo, Alexa-” Gavin started, but Connor wasn’t paying attention. He paused at Connor’s desk. “The fuck? You reach your memory capacity?”

“Give it a rest, Reed.” Anderson sighed, leaning back in his chair. “It’s getting old.”

“What? This is the first step to these perfect little dolls replacing all of us. I gotta strike while I’m still on staff.”

“Because you know they’re gonna replace you first?” Like he had any reason to be smug. His disciplinary file was just as big, if not bigger.

“You’re higher on the list than me, old man. Why do you think they set you up with this fucker. It’ll learn from you, render you obsolete and then replace you.” Gavin leveled a scathing look to Connor. “I wonder if we’ll at least get some goddamn variety or if they’ll all look like this one.”

The android blinked a few times, the LED on its temple going from yellow to blue as it looked up at Gavin.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Gavin, we get it.” Anderson threw his free hand up, laughing, “You wanna fuck Connor, but I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Wait, _that’s_ what you meant by ‘like’?”

“What did you think I meant?”

Gavin saw red and runed on Anderson. “I do not want to fuck your android, Anderson. _Christ._ ” His fist clenched at his side.

“ _The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”_ Anderson cackled and Gavin felt the edge of the desk digging into his thigh.

“Don’t worry, Detective Reed,” Connor chimed in, cheery and bright. Ever the placating voice. Ever the nice one. Oh, Gavin wanted to take a bat to his face. “Regardless of the validity of Hank’s accusation.” And Gavin was turning on Connor now, “there would never be any sort of sexual relationship between us. Casual or otherwise.”

Something in Gavin was fraying a little. He started laughing. “Why? Are you not _equipped_ with those functions?”

And Connor got that little half smile of his. That subtle quirk to his mouth. Gavin felt a pit opening up in his chest. “No,” Connor corrected, still happy as could be, “because I don’t fuck whiny _bitches_ , Gavin. I have higher standards than that.”

The only thing that stopped him from lunging was the knowledge that Fowler’s glass walled office was right behind him.

Anderson sputtered, a whole mouthful of coffee going back into his mug. He was laughing hysterically. Connor was looking  smug and proud of itself.

“To Hell with both of you,” Gavin grumbled. He was outnumbered and he knew it. It wasn’t worth it. He stormed off.

“Need a ride to the burn unit, Gavin?” Anderson called after him, “We can drop you off on the way home!”

“Get fucked, Anderson!” Gavin put as much distance between himself and the duo as was physically possible. His face was not heating up. It _wasn’t._

Hopefully they’d be gone soon.

* * *

  


**FEB. 14, 2039. 00:04:35**

 

Barb was a good woman. The kind of woman that gave a drunk one free phone call for a ride home before calling the cops. Even if she did have to bang his head against the bar hard enough to make him see stars before he’d earned that phone call. Even if he didn’t serve it after trying to pick a fight with her and then her much larger wife. Even if he really didn’t have anyone in the area worth calling except-

Hank Anderson slammed his hand on the booth table. The sound and vibration shot through his head like a chisel straight to his brain. Gavin lifted his head, blinking blearily, one eye reluctant to open fully around the throb of a bruise above his eyebrow. Anderson had his arms folded, snow still fresh on his jacket. At his shoulder was his little pet android in its thin, crisp suit that was starting to show signs of damp around shoulders and collar.

“Oh God, you brought _that_ with you?” Gavin slurred pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Gavin. Just be grateful we’re here.” Anderson took him by the upper arm and started lugging him out of the booth. “Come on. Barb wants you gone.”

Gavin was fine until his feet were the only things under him. Then, the world tilted. He stumbled forward and to the left, pitching toward Anderson and nearly tumbling to the floor. A strong palm pressed against his shoulder caught him. The sudden stop brought vivid memories of the evidence locker flooding back; speed, strength, expressionless efficiency. He swallowed hard against the trembling in his chest. The android tucked itself under Gavin’s arm, supporting his full weight like it was nothing.

“What the fuck, Hank.”

“Shut up.”

He was carried out into the street, stumbling over his own feet and leaning heavily on the android. The cold bite of February air was more jarring and disorienting than sobering. The hour and the chill left this particular little backstreet nearly empty. Save, of course, for Anderson’s car, running idly on the curb. The wind was still. In the distance, tire treads crunched against ice. Every noise seemed so loud without heat and bodies to block it out. Every step, every beat of the engine, he could feel pulsing through his chest and tying his stomach in knots. It did a flip when the door shut behind them.

To his credit, he tried to stop and recover, but it was too little too late.  At least he hit the android square in the chest when a night of alcohol, stomach acid, and bar snacks made its way back up his throat.

Thank God for small victories.

They threw him in the back of Hank’s car; it was muggy and warm and smelled of dog hair, dust, and rust metal. Gavin let his eyes drift closed to the sound of Hank and his android talking outside. The doors opening and closing stung behind his eyes. Then, motion; the roll backward, sudden pitches forward, listing left and right.

He must have dozed off. The next thing Gavin knew, the android’s voice chirped, “Wake up, Gavin,” and he was dragged bodily out of the car and tossed into a patch of dirty sow. Ice and water needled his neck and ears, jarring him into alertness with a shout. His heart pounded in his throat.

Gavin sat up, ignoring the aching bruise forming on his back, and looked around. This wasn’t his building. It was a suburban neighborhood; he was on the lawn of an aged single story house, the porch light on. A dog barked inside. Along the street were similar houses of varying ages, all dark and asleep.

In front of him, Anderson was muffling laughter with one hand, tossing his keys in the other. His android shut the back door of the car, and reached for something on the roof. It had taken off its soiled jacket and shirt. It somehow managed to look even skinnier without the layers of clothing. It glanced at Gavin as it took the keys from Anderson; all dark eyes and snow dusted hair, pale and slender with faint wisps of heat surrounding it like an ethereal white smoke in the streetlight. It was a ghost against the black of Anderson’s car and the starless night sky. And then it was gone.

Gavin swallowed thickly, trying not to think about the strange heat in the pit of his chest. Instead, he turned his focus on Anderson. “This isn’t my house."

“Nope. It’s late and I’m not driving across town to take your sorry ass home,” Anderson said, walking up to his side. “You wanna sit out here and wait for a cab, be my fuckin’ guest.”

A shiver rattled its way up Gavin’s spine.

“Or,” Anderson continued, “You can sober up on my couch and we’ll be square for that Christmas party two years go.” He offered his hand.

Gavin squinted at it, trying to force his sluggish brain to remember what he was talking about. Christmas party? Gavin vaguely remembered bodily dragging Anderson out of a fight and into a cab where they’d screamed obscenities at each other until they got to Gavin’s place and passed out on his living room floor. Surely that couldn’t be what Anderson was talking about.

“Come on, son, I don’t have all night.” Anderson shook his hand in front of Gavin’s face until he took it. “And don’t even think about barfing on me. I’m not nearly as forgiving as Connor.”

Gavin stumbled as he was guided to his feet. His balance as still off, but the worst of the nausea had passed. “This is forgiving?”

“I suggested we leave you in the car. He said no because you’d probably freeze to death and we’d be responsible.”

“Good to know you draw the line at murder.”

“Only because I owed you one.”

Anderson’s house was exactly what Gavin expected it to be, if a little cleaner. A standard thing from sometime around the 90s decorated to look much older. A time capsule that reminded Gavin of his parents, much like Anderson himself. The kitchen light stung his eyes when the door first opened, somehow managing to be brighter than the streetlight outside.

Gavin was pushed against the wall at the door and told to take off his boots, coat, and hoodie. Then he was plopped unceremoniously on the couch. There was a pillow tucked against one arm, a blanket folded over the other. Gavin let the alcohol guide him and pitched sideways onto the pillow, folding awkwardly at the waist but not really caring because at least he was horizontal again.

“God you are a fucking mess, Gavin. What’s got _you_ drinkin’ like this.”

“Get bent,” Gavin grumbled, lifting his hand just enough to flip Anderson off. The pillow smelled of dog and stale beer and something mild and bitter. Plastic? “I don’t ask you why _you_ drink.”

“Everyone knows why _I_ drink, jackass.” he sighed, “Whatever. As long as you’re gone by a reasonable hour, I don’t give a shit.” And he disappeared into the house.

Gavin pulled his feet up onto the couch but didn’t bother with the blanket. Around him, the house made so much noise; a closet door opening and closing, a shower running, a faint knock and whispered conversation, soft footsteps, heavy breathing. Gavin cracked his good eye open in time to see a large black nose in his face and breathe in a lungful of nauseating dog breath. A tongue swiped across his bruised brow, lighting that whole side of his face up, “Shoo,” he said, trying to push the beast away, but it was too big and heavy for him. The wet nose ghosted across his face and his hair, poked him in the ear one before Gavin could force out an, “Anderson, get your fuckin’ dog.”

A low whistle and a voice that was definitely _not_ Anderson’s answered, “Nose off, Sumo. Come here.”

The dog hesitated a moment, then lumbered off after the voice.

Gavin sat up and peered over the back of the couch, squinting against the hall light. His vision adjusted just in time to catch the android heading out a door at the far end. It was dressed in DPD sweats; pants sized for it and rolled up to the middle of the calf, a hooded sweatshirt a few sizes too large, he sleeves pulled over its hands. There was a laundry hamper half full balanced on its hip, hair falling in its face, as it stooped to scratch the St. Bernard on the head and chin before slipping through the door. Gavin sank back down and realized he’d had no reason to sit up in the first place.

He was too drunk for this.

Things got fuzzy for the next hour or so. Gavin could pick out little things; the sound of a washer running, the _tick-tick-tick_ of nails against linoleum, creaking furniture. His eyes closed eventually and sleep came for just a little while. Peaceful, dreamless, deep sleep. The kind of sleep he craved every night but seldom managed to find. Then, the sensation of falling lifted him off the cushions and back into wakefulness against his will.

He opened his eyes to darkness, facing out into the living room instead of up at the ceiling. Ahead of him and a little to his right: _tunk_ , glass against wood. Something set on the coffee table. He tilted his head and could see a slightly deeper blackness moving beside the couch. A pair of fingertips gently nudged his shoulder, pushing him onto his back. His eyes barely open, he could make out the android’s outline, the blue shine of its LED and the orange pinpoints of light where its pupils should be. His heart rate sped up. Gavin knew on some level the image should have made his shout, rear back, scramble away, throw a punch, _something_. But it didn’t. He was just faintly nervous, but not threatened.

“You’re awake.” The voice rattled through him like ice water.

Gavin groaned in what he thought was a derisive manner. He’d wanted to tell the thing to leave him alone, but words weren’t happening.

“Sit up. You should drink something. It’ll help you feel better.” The android urged him.

Gavin grumbled again, but tried to push himself up, only to need help halfway through. Connor hovered around him as he reached for the glass, took a sip, and then drained half the glass in one go.

He blinked and he was back on against the pillow again, the glass in the android’s hand now, orange pinpoint watching him.  “God that’s fuckin’ creepy.” Gavin heard his voice croak.

Another blink and it was gone. Gavin was hovering somewhere between drunken stupor, sleep-deprived stupor, and actual sleep.  A strange, sluggish place that was too warm for rational thought but not enough for true comfort. His head spun, pinning him to the sofa for a while, unable to toss or turn. He closed his eyes until fireworks of color started up behind his eyelids.

This wasn’t working.

He stared at the ceiling, frustrated. He could do this at home. Hell, he could  do this at the bar. Not wasting what might be his one and only favor with Anderson by slowly dying on the man’s couch. “Fuck.”

He took a deep breath, rallied his energy, and forced himself upright. He braced his hands on his thighs. “Okay, Reed.” He mumbled to himself. “You got this. Call a cab. Go home.” He tried to stand, failed, and plopped back down on the couch. “Come on, Gavin.” He smacked himself hard across the cheek to force himself to focus. “Get your fucking shit together.”

On his feet, his brain swished and swirled behind his eyes throwing his balance off. He stumbled and crossed his feet until he found something to hold onto on his way to his coat. The hook by the door seemed freakishly far when he had to go around the sofa to get to it. Ultimately, he made it and dug through his pockets for his phone.

A bit of fumbling and he unlocked it. He had a bunch of new messages but the text was too tiny to read with the light boring holes into his eyes.

“Okay. Get your shit, then cab.”

His boots were at the door. His coat was right there. He patted the pockets. Keys in the coat, sidearm in the coat. Wallet -a bit of searching- still in his jeans. Phone in his hand. That just left his hoodie. Gavin blinked and scanned the living room, using his phone as a flashlight. It wasn’t here. He considered abandoning it, but decided against it. He didn’t want to leave anything in Anderson’s house.

The sound of a dryer running caught his attention. The noise guided him back to the couch and then to a door at the end of the hall left slightly ajar. The blackness beyond was cut with a faint blue-white light near the floor. Gavin clung to one wall, sliding his shoulder against the plaster in some places. As he drew closer, he heard another noise under the rumble of the drier; a tinny sound and something else. A voice singing.

“ _Ich hol mir dein Herz_ ,” Despite the low volume the voice was crisp and precise, _“heut Nacht…”_

Gavin practically threw himself at the door, catching himself on the frame.

“ _Noch schlägt es in dir ganz leise und sacht…_ ”

The garage was spacious and empty. A bracingly cold contrast to the general warmth and clutter of the house. Only the edges were loaded with boxes and yard tools, odds and ends stacked on wire shelving units. The washer and dryer combo looked older than Gavin himself and rattled in place.

On the floor beside the door was Anderson’s android, still wearing the sweats, sitting cross-legged and pouring over a tablet. The blue light highlight its profile in sharp lines and shadow, exaggerated the frizz and curl in its hair. Text was scrolling by too fast for the human eye to read. A pair of headphones connected the tablet to the android, draped around its neck and blasting the static sound of guitars, a steady drumbeat, and vocals.

“ _Es muss so rein sein_ ,” the android sang along, seemingly under its breath. The way a human might absentmindedly do. Could androids even be absentminded? Gavin didn’t want to puzzle it out. It flicked to a new file, “ _doch bald wird es mein sein_ -” then stopped abruptly. Even the text stopped; a case file by the look of the formatting. “Detective Reed?” It looked startled. “Did I disturb you? I apologize. I can shut the door.”

Gavin ignored the pang in his chest. “Anderson sticks you in the garage when you’re not in use?” he laughed, “Appropriate.”

The android tilted its head. “I usually sit on the sofa with Sumo at night and work, but you needed the rest and I didn’t want to disturb you.” It corrected him. If he was being totally honest with himself, that stung to hear. But, Gavin Reed hated being honest with himself and frankly he didn’t want to give a shit about stealing the android’s bed for a night.  “Did you need something, Detective?”

Gavin ran a hand over the back of his neck, his resolve fraying in the face of all this politeness. “I was gonna head out. You seen my jacket?”

“I threw it in with my things. The dryer’s temperamental and takes forever, but it should be done soon.” It started to rise from its spot on the floor.

Gavin scowled at it. “What the fuck?”

Connor sat back down. The music cut off. “You need to be more specific, Detective.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Gavin added emphasis instead of specificity. “Why- Why are you so goddamn nice to me?” He’d been _nothing_ but cruel to this thing from the moment it had arrived months ago. It should hate him by now. Or at least avoid him.

“I don’t understand. What have I done that could be considered nice?”

“You checked on me earlier.”

The android furrowed its brow. The blue light at its temple turned yellow. “I wanted to make sure you were still breathing. Your blood alcohol level was dangerously high when we came to pick you up.”

Gavin gestured with the phone still in his hand, “Anderson said you told him not to leave me in the car to sober up.”

“You would have frozen,” as if it was the most reasonable argument in the world.

“Why the fuck do you _care?_ ” What part of this was it not understand. He was an _asshole_. Nobody was supposed to care about him.

The android stood, towering over Gavin a little. “Keep your voice down. It’s three in the morning.” It was sharp and authoritative. Gavin felt his throat close up and the world sharpened considerably.

“Why the fuck,” he said, quieter but no less angry, “do you care if I freeze or get alcohol poisoning or if I’m inconvenienced by your noise?”

He watched the LED turn red, then yellow. Connor blinked at him, looking for answers, finding none.

“You could have killed me in the evidence locker.” He wasn’t sure why he said it out loud. Maybe he had less control over himself than he’d thought back on the couch. But the question had bothered him -- no, _tormented_ him, for months no matter how much he forced himself to try and let it go. “Why didn’t you?”

It reared back in surprise. Red again. Its brow furrowed, but an answer came this time. “It wasn’t imperative to the mission that I kill you, so I saw no reason to.”

“I would have killed _you._ ”

It didn’t respond. It almost looked hurt. Gavin felt another sting and wanted to punch it square in the nose.

Why was he arguing with an android? He only wanted his clothes back. He didn’t need answers to these questions or explanations for this thing’s behavior. It wasn’t his problem. They stood, staring each other down in silence with only the dim light cast by the tablet to see by. Soon, the dryer went quiet. Connor’s LED went back to blue and it moved away, tossing the tablet on top of the washer to act as a makeshift light source.

Gavin scraped his thumbnail against his phone case. How dare this android have the audacity to look like a kicked puppy. It knew he wanted it gone. Preferably with some permanence. Why was he considering its feelings anyway? Gavin knew what it was; a machine. A machine that could kill a man with ease that refused to take orders. A machine made to replace people like him. A workplace hazard. A danger. One Hank “death-wish” Anderson had decided to house under his roof.

A danger that had spared him.

A danger that Anderson’s _dog_ obeyed. That checked on a sick bastard. That forgave an asshole like Gavin Reed for his trespasses even when such forgiveness only invited more vitriol.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Gavin grumbled at its back, silently hoping it wouldn’t hear him.

The android froze. Yellow. Blue. “Did you ever consider,” it said, looking over its shoulder at him from its place crouched in front of the dryer, “That I might just _be_ nice, Gavin?” It turned. “Did it ever cross your mind that I might be mean only when I need to be, but don’t really enjoy it all that much? That I’d prefer to help and protect people, you know, like I was originally programmed to?” That last bit had some real bite to it.

Again with the pangs of guilt, this thing was as bad as Maggie. No, he hadn’t considered it. A wave of nausea hit him again and he leaned more heavily against the fram. He watched the android unload laundry into the cracked hamper from earlier in silence. It set aside its jacket, the holographic detailing removed for the wash cycle. The last piece it took out it ran through its fingers a few times before throwing it back in. “It needs another few minutes.”

It rose, cracked hamper on its hip and tried to skirt past Gavin into the house.

“What all that stuff’s dry, but mine’s not?”

The android stared him down until he let it pass.

Gavin laughed quietly to himself when he was alone in the hallway again. How many guys had he dated like this? Tall, skinny, breakable-look. Sure, none of them had been able to put him down over the span of a few seconds. None of them had been androids either.  They’d been terrible just like him; manipulative and hostile in large doses, detached and annoying in small ones. But always the quiet, obedient type. The homebodies that did favors.

When Connor passed him again, the wear in its hoodie wasn’t lost on Gavin. The shoulder seams and collar looked like they’d seen some shit. When the realization hit him, Gavin couldn’t stop himself from joking, “So, uh, you and Anderson are a Thing?”

“In the literal sense, yes, Gavin. We are all things.”

“Fuckin smartass. You know what I meant. You’re wearing his clothes.”

Connor looked down at the DPD logo across its chest and made a thoughtful little noise. It quirked up an eyebrow. “If we were do you think I would be in the garage right now?”  Then, offered a definitive, “No. We’re roommates, friends, and work partners. Nothing more… intimate than that.”

“Huh.” Gavin watched it reattach the holographics to its jacket. “You know,’ his voice said without his full consent, “you don’t have to wear those anymore, right? They changed the policy. LED too.”

“I know.” Connor didn’t look at him. “I just want to. It gives… an illusion of normalcy. So much change so quickly for all of us. It’s a comfort.” Though whether it meant comfort for it or the humans around it, it didn’t specify.

He needed to stop talking to this thing; just go back to the couch and wait out the last few minutes. Or even call the cab now and add urgency to all this.

Instead, he stepped out into the garage. The still, empty air bristled against his skin. He probably should have put on his coat. The cold of the concrete floor seeped through his socks and made his feet ache after a few steps. He made his way out and around the android to lean against the washer, his phone clattering next to the tablet a little louder than intended. Connor startled at the sound, a subtle little flinch, but noticeable even to Gavin’s drunk ass. The holographics were back on its jacket, but kept touching it. It ran its thumbs along the embroidery, one at the serial number and a bare patch beside it, the other on the blue line in the collar.

A little voice in his head that was _definitely_ the alcohol talking but also sounded a little like his mother told him to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin blurted out, “about your suit.”

_And maybe about everything else, just a little. A negligible amount really. Not worth mentioning._

Connor flashed that stiff half-smile that was probably the fakest of all his expressions. “It’s synthetic. It washed out fine. No harm done.”

Gavin watched Connor’s face relax back into placid neutrality. From this angle it could be mistaken for human; loose hair curling across its brow, mouth slightly open, shoulders moving as breathed. A totally unnecessary feature that annoyed Gavin to no end on most androids but seemed to suit Connor’s idle functions just fine.

Without thinking, possessed by months of vivid dreams and a nagging curiosity set loose by alcohol, he reached out and touched the android’s cheek. It jolted in surprise, but didn’t pull away or shove Gavin off. It wasn’t at all like he’d imagined it. There was some give to the skin; too smooth, too fluid. Beneath was solid, unforgiving plastic. He could feel Connor’s biocomponents working in its jaw, thrumming like a pulse. He pressed his palm to Connor’s cheek, ran his thumb along the cheekbone of the faceplate, the ache easing out of his fingertips. “You’re warm,” he murmured, confused. That was the biggest surprise of all. He’d expected room temperature or colder in that metal and plastic. Not something like this. Not something _alive._

“Androids run optimally at 39 degrees Celsius.”

Gavin was sure Connor used Celsius just to be a dick, so he shot back with, “I thought computers needed to be cool to run.”

Connor turned to him, leaning into the hand on his face to do so, “Well it’s a good thing I’m not just a simple computer then, isn’t it?”

The other cheek visible, Gavin reached up with his other hand and touched it as if that would, somehow, yield different results.

Dark eyes blinked down at him. “Gavin. What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I might still be kinda drunk.”

“I see.”

They stood like that for a little while, looking at each other and not saying anything as the dryer thumped its way through a cycle. Surrounded on three sides by the cold dark of Anderson’s garage and by sterile light on the fourth.

All it would take was a little flex of his arm.

_I'd like to make you a deal._

The dryer rumbled to a stop and then a few things happened at once. Gavin gave into the alcohol voice and tried to pull Connor closer. Connor turned his head to break Gavin’s grip and tend to his original task. What resulted was the detective pressing an awkward, but firm, kiss to Connor’s cheek.

Connor turned back to Gavin immediately, jaw clenched and working beneath Gavin’s hands, LED fading rapidly from red to yellow. Then the dryer door clicked open and it was back to blue. Connor looked him dead in the eye, straight-faced, and asked, “Do you want me to call you a cab, Detective Reed?”

And it was like getting stabbed in the stomach. Non-lethal but fuck did it hurt. He let Connor go and had his hoodie shoved into his free hands a second later. He threw it on to buy himself a few seconds and an inch or two of space. It was hot to the touch and set waves of static through his hair. The linen smell was an assault to the senses. “No,” he said, reaching for his phone and avoiding eye-contact. “No, I’ve got it.”

“Okay.”

Gavin rushed past him and back to the door. “Um... “ He hesitated in the doorway, “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Gavin.” It almost sounded like a question.

He didn’t hear Connor follow him back into the house, or even any movement in the garage at all. He hugged the wall on his way back to the living room, but not quite as intensely as before. His head had stopped its swimming considerably, but he still wasn’t quite all there yet. Exhaustion came in painful waves that nearly knocked him out on his feet.  In the living room, he lingered. He should go; give Connor his couch back. His coat and boots were right there. He could walk a couple streets down and sober up some more while he waited for a ride. He _should_ do those things.

Gavin tossed his phone on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch after checking it for rogue dogs. He threw an arm over his eyes and tried to force the vibrating feeling in his bones to slow down enough to relax and maybe sleep a little.

A sharp smack to his foot knocked his whole leg off the couch. Then the heavy, solid weight of his boots landed right on his crotch. He doubled over, nearly sitting up, and regretted it immediately when a splitting headache threatened to knock him out again. “What the fuck-” he hissed, opening his eyes to see Anderson looming at the armrest with a mug of coffee in one hand. Daylight was pouring in through the windows. Everything tasted like metal and dog hair.

“Get the hell off my couch, sleeping beauty.” Anderson said, louder than was necessary. “I said you could sober up here, I never said you could stay.”

Gavin sat up and tipped his head against the back of the couch, “I hate you so goddamn much.”

“Yeah? Well, We’re square now, so we don’t need to bother each other anymore.”

Gavin made a noise that might have been a word. He’d intended it to be a word of the unsavory variety anyway.

“You’re a classy bitch, Gavin.”

Speaking in gestures was considerable easier than speaking with words.

“The classiest. Now, get your shit together. Your ride’s almost here and I’d like some goddamn peace in my morning before work.”

Gavin set to pulling his boots on, picked up his phone, and then got up to get his coat. The whole time he could feel Anderson watching him like a disapproving parent. A deep breath. An aggressive sip of coffee. The click of his tongue. Every noise was like a needle straight to his temples. Jesus Christ he went hard last night. “ _What_ ” he managed to croak when he was finally ready to leave.

“Your cab’s here.” Anderson said gesturing to the door.

Thank fuck.

Gavin started to head out, but stopped short when Anderson took him by the arm halfway out the door. “Oh, before you go I just have a quick question. It’ll only take a second.”

“Fine. What?”

“Are we going to address the fact that you tried to kiss Connor last night or can I just use this as blackmail until you die? I need to know for my records.”

Gavin felt his stomach fall through the floor, the snow, the very Earth itself. It hadn’t been a dream like all the other times. It had been real. Connor had told Anderson that _motherfucker_. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was sunk. There was no talking his way out of this. His intentions had been clear and rejected wholesale. He tried to look for more options, any options, but as far as he was concerned there was only one.

“Just- fuckin-” He snatched Anderson’s coffee mug out of his hand and knocked the whole thing back like it was nothing. It didn’t help much. “Blackmail.” He handed the mug back. “Definitely blackmail, and we will _never_ speak of this again, Hank.”

Anderson just laughed, took a half step back, and closed the door in Gavin’s face. Oh well, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He’d outlive Anderson. _Connor_ on the other hand that could be a problem.

But it was a problem for future-Gavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT 10/19** : For all you new lovelies coming in, I was gifted a channel over on the Detroit: new ERA discord server. You are now free to scream at me in real time as you progress through this angst-laden series.
> 
> You can find me over here: https://discord.gg/6trxsZZ


	2. Chapter 2

**MAR. 01, 2039. 14:20:00**

 

It was a quiet day, even with the window open and letting in the sounds of the street below. The white noise of cars on asphalt and distant birds, voices jumbling together enough that words were gone but tone was still there. Unseasonably warm without being oppressively so. Through the half-open door a small bell jingled, stopped, then started up again. Clean sheets masked the dust with cheap detergent, still warm from the dryer. On one side he had extra blankets piled up just so. On the other, fingers ghosted across his neck, down to his collarbone, his chest and over his ribs; their touches growing firmer by near imperceptible degrees.

It was the kind of afternoon Gavin could see himself getting used to.

A pair of lips pressed to the stubble on his cheek, firm and certain, demanding his attention. When he turned his head, they eluded him and focused on his jaw, his temple. Literally anywhere they could reach but his mouth. A smattering of affection across his skin, finding every scar, every little imperfection with laser precision. A warm body pressed closer to his own, all smooth skin and solid lines and the smell of linen and dander and somehow, bizarrely, clean water if such a thing could even be described as a scent. Breaths, steady and sure, huffed in the crook of his neck. Broad shoulders shifted under his arms. Short, perfectly rounded nails scraped against his hip.

He could definitely get used to this. He needed this. The world melted away into a hazy blanket of sensation, comforting in its consistency. Warmth that pumped sluggishly through his over-tired muscles and hyper-aware nerves. The constant ache behind his eyes and down his spine diffusing like so much smoke on a breeze. Blunt teeth nipped at a tendon in his neck. Nimble fingers curled around him and he could swear this was the first time he’d felt human in months. Years even.

Everything moved slowly, as if through water, as if they had all the time in the world. Every kiss lazy. Every touch and movement deliberate in its intent to prolong whatever feeling it triggered. Every breath, every shift of weight, every inch of ground given done so with purpose and to its greatest effect, no learning curve necessary. If only every day could be like this, placid and docile. Maybe life would be a little more bearable.

Fluid strands of curly hair slipped from his fingers. A line of dry kisses followed the path the fingers had taken earlier. He tried to follow with his hands; reaching, tugging when he made contact, but it was all ignored. Single-minded focus was a shared trait, it seemed. Gavin nearly laughed. Nearly. A part of him worried any sound might ruin the serenity of the moment.

There was little more he could do than just lie back and let the other have his way. It wouldn’t hurt to. Just this once. Next time he’d give orders and make demands, but for now his tired brain offered nothing. No calls for movement, no connection to his voice. He sank into the bed, boneless and winding tighter and tighter at the core.

A door slammed on the other side of the wall above his head hard enough to rattle his bed frame. Gavin fought to ignore it. Focusing all his attention on the impossibly soft hands on his thighs and the unfairly clever mouth between them.

“ _ What the fuck is wrong with you? _ ” A shrill voice screamed overhead, barely muffled by the wall.

Gavin ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but his focus was coming apart. 

A second voice, “ _You’re always like this!_ _You can’t control me, Sam.”_

And it was gone. He opened his eyes to the darkness of his blacked-out bedroom, light seeping in through a crack in the door. Rumpled sheets and scattered pillows. Alone with only sweat and frustration to show for it. Gavin sat up. He worked his jaw in a slow circle to stop from him from clenching it too tight. He’d been so  _ close _ . 

It was just his luck that the one time he gave into the temptation months of fantasies presented him would be the same day his neighbors would decide to duke it out for the first time since their return to Detroit. He’d hoped they’d worked out whatever shit they were constantly fighting over while they were out of town with the other evacuees but apparently that was too much to ask for.

They started screaming over each other. Something about Pam’s husband’s female friends or something. Gavin wasn’t bothering to pick the words out of their petty little argument. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. The last dregs of his arousal turning into white-hot fury.

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.  _ Keep it in check, Gavin _ . His hands were shaking.  _ You can’t afford another hospital visit for a broken hand.  _ He took a few deep breaths through his nose. _Just ride it out_ , he’d been told, _let it pass_.

He turned in place and pounded on the shared wall with the side of his fist hard enough to leave dents in the plaster. “For fuck’s sake!” He bellowed, knowing his voice would carry over theirs. “Some people in this building work nights! Let me fucking sleep!”

Silence. Blissful, peaceful silence. Gavin sank back down against his pillows slowly. He might not be able to get off the way he’d wanted to today, but he might be able to get a few hours of sleep before he had to go in to work. His heart rate calmed down. His breathing evened out. His cat jumped up on the bed next to him, having come in to investigate all the noise.

Then: “ _ Oh my fucking God, Henry, now you’re even upsetting the neighbors with your bullshit!” _

_ “My bullshit? You’re the one screaming!” _

_ “You’re screaming too!” _

Gavin put his hands over his face. If money and time weren’t objects he’d have moved ages ago. He might have taken a page out of Maggie’s book and ditched Detroit altogether. Or gone full Kamski and just dropped off the face of the planet entirely except for when it suited him, which would be never.

For now, though, he just settled on shouting, “Get a fucking divorce!” at the top of his lungs.

* * *

  
  


**MAR. 03, 2039. 21:15:57**

 

Perkins still came around the office on occasion. Stubbornly holding on to the idea that the deviant androids could somehow still be corralled back into their previous place in society and he was determined to get the DPD’s help in the endeavor. It was almost comical when Gavin really thought about it. The androids had been free for months and there’d been very little progress to show for it, but some people were still hellbent on undoing it.

There was also a rumor circulating around the late-night crowd that Perkins had gotten a foot in the door at CyberLife and he was a card in their hand now. That potentially the whole of the FBI was in cahoots with the hemorrhaging company. Every local news station had a take on it, all of them assured by the acting CEO that there was no such cooperation happening. Kamski, as always, could not be reached for comment. Gavin didn’t give the rumor much credence though.

Gavin watched the weasel-faced little shit skirt across the office out of the corner of his eye. He was a coward, clinging to the wall and keeping his head down, putting as many desks as he could between himself and Anderson’s work space as was humanly possible. Gavin sat up to look over his desk wall out onto the floor. Most of the desks were empty save for a few androids. Across the way, Connor sat alone, the desk beside his empty, his face blank as he scanned something on his terminal. For a moment he couldn’t remember why the android was still there.

It came back to him slowly, Anderson was out for the week on personal business and Connor had taken to just living at the station at night and babysitting the lieutenant’s dog during the day.

It was a strange, empty feeling realizing he was the only human at a desk at such an early hour. When Fowler left, he’d probably be the only human in the office period. He shuddered and settled back down, nursing a cup of water and pretending to do paperwork. Typing reports had always been the bane of his existence. Sure, he’d get them done, but he’d drag is feet as long as he possibly could and no one would be able to stop him.

God, he needed sleep. His forehead was pounding.

Nearly half an hour later, Perkins walked out of Fowler’s office. His shoulders were squared and his head was high. That was odd. Usually Perkins came out of his meeting with Fowler with his tail between his legs trying to pretend he’d never been there at all. This time, the agent took the straight line path out, right past Anderson’s desk. Right past  _ Connor’s _ desk.

Perkins slowed to a stop in front of the android.

Gavin put his elbows on his desk, cup in his hands. “Oh, this’ll be good.” 

Perkins lingered at the desk even as Connor ignored him, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently. Gavin could see the line of his jaw moving, talking at Connor. 

“Barking up the wrong tree, fucker,” Gavin mumbled into his cup, “Walk away.”

Perkins waved a hand in front of Connor’s eyes to break the scan and get his attention. Connor blinked in surprise and turned in his chair to face Perkins. Gavin’s lip-reading was a little rusty, but he was pretty sure Connor said, “Can I help you?”

Perkins said something and Connor’s brows knit together, his mouth pulling into a thin line. Gavin strained to hear, but they kept their voices low. Damn it. At least he could sort of make out what Connor was saying in reply:

“That’s not true.” Anger furrowed his brow.

“They can’t do that.” He started curling in on himself. Defensive. Distressed.

“I was tasked to investigate what deviants were up to,” Something Gavin couldn’t make out, “Which I  _ did _ .” Some more words Gavin missed, “This conversation is over.” Connor turned back to the terminal. The LED at his temple was a clear, stark red. 

Perkins put a hand on Connor’s desk, leaning into his space to whisper something. Who did this asshole think he was? Was Fowler seeing this? The nerve of some people. “Just move the fuck on, buddy.” Gavin growled into his cup.

Why wasn’t Connor putting Perkins in his place, defending himself,  _ something _ ? Where was the clapback? The scathing sarcasm? This whole thing was turning out to be much less fun to watch than Gavin had hoped. In fact, when Perkins pulled back and Gavin could see Connor’s face again it left a bad taste in his mouth even a huge gulp of water couldn’t wash out. The android's jaw was set, eyes tacking Perkins as the agent leaned back, smug and arrogant in his body language.

“What is he saying to you?” Gavin whispered at nothing.

It made him think of Connor’s first interrogation with the DPD. The way that deviant had silently stared at Connor for the first half. The way it had beaten its own head against the table over and over and over, too strong to be stopped by human hands. What was it Connor had said? Deviants tended to self-destruct under stress? He wondered, briefly, what Connor might do if his own stress reached that level. It made Gavin’s heart race and his mouth go dry.

He’d seen enough. Time to get this asshole to leave.

Gavin set his cup down, stood, and made another quick scan  of the floor, just in case. All androids, all busy. Except for Fowler’s office, but his back was turned, engrossed in a phone call.  

_ Perfect. _

He stalked over to Connor’s desk. “Perkins!” he called when he was halfway there. Perkins tried to ignore him. “Fuckin’ gremlin, I know you can hear me.”

He got a sideways glance. “Detective… Reed, was it?” Perkins folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Good to see your face has healed up nicely. Hope the concussion didn’t put you out too long.”

Gavin made a show of cracking his knuckles. “Doesn’t sound like your nose is much better. Or have you always sounded like that?” Perkin’s upper lip started to twitch. “Don’t you have better things to do than harass the locals? Big time FBI agent like you must be  _ swamped _ .” Gavin couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Unless, of course, no one wants to give you work anymore.”

Perkins stood his ground. “This doesn’t concern you, detective. Get back to work.”

“What are you, my boss now?” Gavin laughed in his face. He pushed his sleeves up to the elbow and started circling Perkins. Oh, he was feeling  _ predatory _ today. Part of him just wanted to skip all the macho rigmarole and just start throwing punches, but he kept the compulsion in check. He wanted to provoke Perkins into snapping. Make it look like he was in the right. The agent followed him, turning in place and staring him down, keeping his cards close. “Oh wait, you’re  _ not _ . And you’ve overstayed your welcome here,  _ Dick. _ So I suggest  _ you _ get a move on and scuttle back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“That’s  _ Agent Perkins _ to you,” just a hint of indignation. “Or if that’s too complicated you can just call me  _ sir. _ ”

This motherfucker.

“Oh, that’s big talk for a guy beating a dead horse because his daddy’ll stop loving him if he doesn’t bring home a trophy.”

Perkins narrowed his eyes. The edges of his ears were turning red. “I never pegged you for an android  _ sympathizer _ , Reed.” He cocked his head to one side. “Or have your loyalties changed since November?”

Gavin squared his shoulders and clenched his fists.”Oh, I’m not. I’ll be the first to throw this heap of plastic under a moving bus. Then possibly a second bus. And gladly. It has to be the single most annoying piece of shit I’ve ever had the misfortune of sharing a room with and I’ve known  _ Anderson _ for years.” He gave Perkins a crooked half-smile. “But, here’s the thing,” He slowed down his speech for emphasis, like talking to a child, “You don’t fucking work here. Hell, you don’t even live in Detroit. You don’t get to come into  _ my _ house and start pissing matches with the sentient toaster.”

“No, that’s clearly  _ your _ job.” Perkins laughed. “I don’t think you properly explained why you bothered to come over here. Or did I just miss it hidden behind all that posturing?”

“You best get a move on  _ federale. _ ” Gavin warned, inching into Perkins' personal space, grateful he had a couple of inches in height on the guy. But, he was done poking fun and tired of words. Perkins needed to give up and leave or throw a punch. Now.

“Or what? You’ll take a swing at me?”

“I just might.”

Perkins cocked his head to the side, sneer curling his lip. “Good to know  _ no one _ here respects authority or fears discipline. No wonder you people fell to the androids. You’re practically asking for someone to put you in your place.”

In a single, quick motion, Gavin wrapped his left arm around Perkins’ shoulders and pulled him in close enough that their cheeks nearly touched, making sure to keep their backs to Fowler’s office on the off chance he started watching. “Oh, ho-ho, no. You misunderstand,  _ Dick. _ See,  _ Anderson’s _ the one that doesn’t give a shit about discipline. I, on the other hand, don’t give a shit about  _ anything _ .” He held two fingers up and pressed them to the center of Perkins’ forehead like aiming a pistol. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, I suggest you get the fuck out of my town.” With a click of his tongue and a wink, Gavin pantomimed firing a single shot  right between Perkins’ eyebrows.

He let the agent go and took a step back, smiling wide and bright as if they’d had the most friendly conversation in the world.

After a moment of tense silence, Perkins retreated. Gavin laughed at his back as he went. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  _ Jackal _ my ass.” He lowered his voice a little when Perkins was out of sight. “You ain’t so tough.”

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, disappointed he didn’t get to feel Perkins’ nose crunch against his knuckles. It was for the best, probably. At least he wouldn’t be getting another diatribe from Fowler about his behavior. He’d been on a pretty good streak lately. With a disappointed sigh, he turned and started heading back to his reports.

And then made the mistake of glancing down at Connor as he passed.

At some point during all that, Gavin had placed himself between Perkins and Connor’s desk. Connor’s dark eyes were trained on him like some kind of curious dog, his hands fidgeting in his lap. The LED flickered from yellow to blue. 

The back of Gavin’s neck started to heat up. A prickly, irritating warmth that tried to spread to his ears and his face. His throat tightened. He needed to get out of there. 

Connor opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, then tried again but only managed to get out, “Gavin, I-” before Gavin interrupted him.

“What are you looking at?” he said, a little too sharply. “We don’t keep you around here just to sit and look pretty, Claptrap. Get back to work.” He fled back to his own space before Connor could say anything in response.

 

* * *

 

**MAR. 04, 2039. 01:18:36**

 

A flick to his temple shocked him out of a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

Gavin jolted upright in his chair, pulling something in his shoulder and nearly falling to the floor in the process. He looked around. Nothing to his left. To his right, he saw Connor walking away, his back to Gavin. A hint of motion at his periphery. On his desk was a fresh cup of steaming black coffee. He glanced at Connor’s back. Glowering, he checked the cup. Nothing on the slip cover. Nothing on the cup. He brought it to his nose. It smelled alright, but he knew better than to just trust it.

He took it with him when he got up to follow Connor. His vision went a little fuzzy when he stood up. That warm, muggy feeling in his head and neck that came with too much sleep deprivation starting to settle in. Like his brain was punctured and leaking vital fluids into his skull. He took a deep breath through his nose, but it didn’t do too much to alleviate the feeling. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and powered through it.   

The android startled when he noticed Gavin had been right on his heels.

“What’s wrong with it?” Gavin gestured at him with he cup, careful not to spill it, exhaustion draining his momentum before he even really got started. “You burn it? Eye drops? Is it  _ decaf _ ? You son of a bitch, how dare you.”

Connor’s eyes widened, “I- No! Gavin, I swear it’s just a cup of coffee. I can’t attest to the quality of the break room coffee maker, but I didn’t tamper with it.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes, “Then, why?”

Connor’s shoulders slumped a little, a cringe flitted across his face. “You didn’t let me thank you for earlier. With Perkins.”

Gavin rounded Anderson’s desk to sit in his chair until the darkness on the edges of his vision went away. If Connor took issue with this, he didn’t let it show.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me like that.”

“I wasn’t standing up for  _ you _ ,” Gavin was quick to correct. “I just don’t like that prick coming in here acting like he owns the place and can do whatever he wants. It’s not his  _ job _ to scold you when you fuck up,” he swallowed hard. His hands were shaking and he had to set down the cup. “Or whatever it was he was saying to you. He doesn’t work here.” He leaned back in Anderson’s chair and looked around for something to occupy himself with. The donut boxes and other clutter made him cringe. What kind of man ate this way? Eventually, he found a blue foam stress ball in the mix. That would do. It would keep his hands busy.

“Oh.” Connor said. Gavin tried to pretend he didn’t notice the android watching him poke through Anderson’s things. After Gavin had tossed the ball in the air a few times, Connor chirped up again. “Can I ask you a personal question?"

“No.” 

Back to silence. A few more tosses and Gavin nearly started laughing. He had to actively fight the urge to after a minute or two until he just couldn’t take it anymore. “You know,” he said, giving Connor a sideways glance. “People usually ask the question anyway. The asking permission thing is just a formality.”

“But you said-”

“Just ask your damn question,” he sighed, exasperated. 

Connor blinked at him in surprise. He sat forward in his chair, hands folded primly on the desk like he was a high school principal about to give Gavin the dressing down of a lifetime. “Do you have trouble sleeping at home?”

Gavin squeezed the stress ball in his hand and leveled Connor a look he thought was intimidating. Unperturbed, Connor expounded on his question. Something about how sleeplessness could negatively impact his work habits and physical health. He kept going until Gavin spoke up and said, “How I sleep is none of your concern.”

But Connor pressed anyway. “If the core of your problem is psychological you should-”

Gavin threw the ball at his face. Connor caught it without so much as a flinch. “If I wanted advice, which I don’t by the way, I wouldn’t want to get it from a glorified Roomba.” He hadn’t meant to snarl it at the android, but there was no unringing that particular bell.

Connor let the question drop and set the ball back on the desk. After a few moments, Gavin picked it back up again. Tossing it up toward the ceiling and catching it with one hand, his other arm draped over the armrest. Across the desk he saw Connor pull something out of his jacket, something small that caught the light as he rolled it between his fingers.

Was he doing  _ coin tricks _ ? That goddamn showoff.

Gavin had to force himself not to watch, even going so far as to swivel his chair so Connor’s hands weren’t in his field of vision anymore.

“May I ask you another question?” Connor said after a while and Gavin realized he should have gotten back up and gone back to work five minutes ago.

“Knock yourself out, I guess.”

“Why do you hate androids? Or,” some doubt. Some hesitation there. “Is it just me you hate so much?”

“You’re not that special, Connor. I just hate everybody.”

“Why?”

Gavin spun his chair back around, his eyes low, focusing on the edge of the whiteboard separating the workspaces. He dug his thumbs into the soft foam of the stress ball, piercing the thin cover with one ragged thumbnail. He considered the bullshit answer; the one he fed to Fowler when he was reprimanded for not playing nice with others. The jaded answer he aimed at his family when they feigned concern in his general direction. The stock answer reserved for acquaintances. The textbook answer for doctors and therapists. The true-to-form answer for dates. He wondered if Connor would see through any of them or all of them. He was programmed to read people and situations after all. Would he call Gavin out or just accept whatever he offered.

“Gavin?”

“Because people suck and I’m not going to pretend to be nice to appease them. I’d rather be alone.”

Connor scooted his chair closer, trying to catch Gavin’s eye. “That doesn’t make any sense. Humans are social creatures.”

“Not this human.” Gavin pointedly refused to look up from the stress ball in his hands.

“Why do you think this way? It seems to only be making your life harder.” The concern in his voice sounded so genuine it burned him like hot oil splattering on his skin. Sharp and raw and persistent no matter how he tried to ignore it. His heart caught in his throat and tried to suffocate him. It was worse than the swimming in his head.

For the briefest of moments, Gavin contemplated honesty.

_ Because when you hate people it’s easier to make them hate you back. When they hate you no one expects you to be a hero anymore. They aren’t surprised when you disappoint them.  _ _ They see the bad in you immediately instead of discovering it over time.  _ _ When the bar is low it’s easier to jump over. _

It wasn’t real concern. He told himself. It wasn’t real. It was ones and zeros. Probabilities and best guesses at what would be an appropriate tone. Life-like simulations, not reality. The simulation of concern. The simulation of care. It was no more real than his dreams had been.

Gavin put the ball back down among Anderson’s clutter, turned his chair away.  With a deep breath and a prayer, he pushed himself to his feet. Resting his hip against the desk to steady himself, he finally took a sip of that gifted coffee. Typical of the break room, sweeter and weaker than he would have made it himself, but passable. He’d drink it over the course of the night.

“Gavin?” Connor tried to get his attention again.

He wasn’t going to give in. “Thanks for the coffee, Connor.” he raised the cup over his shoulder in a little toast. Then walked, a zombie, unthinking and just trying not to bump into things back to his desk. 

When he was finally back in his chair he glanced the android’s way. Some part of him hoped he’d see Connor looking back at him, watching him with concern plain as day on his face. But no, the android had gone back to his work already, eyes ahead, LED spinning yellow, blue, yellow again. 

Gavin told himself if he ignored the sting, it would go away eventually. It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration hit and I wrote another one I guess????  
> ?????  
> You guys really seem to like it, so I'm just kinda rolling with it now.
> 
> I've got a few more scenes written out but not enough for a chapter in the format/pattern I want for each one. But they might go up on [ my tumblr ](http://squirrellythief.tumblr.com) on their own as rough drafts at some point in the future.
> 
>  **EDIT: 7/21** Just tidying up some more continuity errors. Oh the drawbacks of writing something on the fly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned so huge so fast it completely uprooted my sleep schedule.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT 7/12** Fixed a slight error in continuity that won't matter until later, but it was really bugging me.

**MAR. 30, 2039. 03:33:34**

A long hallway lit by white sunlight through a single window at one end, bathing the place in a dust-speckled greyscale. Floorboards sagging beneath his feet at the top of the stairs threatening to drop him right back down to ground level. Water-stained baseboards and mildew lined ceilings. Chipping paint and crooked patches of paler white where photographs might have hung back when the place could still shelter people of some wealth. Chewed-down doors clinging to their hinges on either side. Ahead of him, the footsteps of his partner, behind him eerie, tangible quiet.

Gavin took a deep breath to steady himself, and the smells of mold and wood rot set up shop in his nose and chest immediately. Underneath them was something else, an invisible fog of something coppery and fetid, too faint to be wholly familiar but too distinct to blend in with everything else. He coughed into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t feel any steadier. Even the weight of his pistol in his hands wasn’t enough to stop the hammering in his chest. Muscle memory scaled the staircase for him; his higher mind already trying to get ahead of him, laying out the next steps.

Gavin shook his head and forced himself to focus. He walked himself through what had gotten him to this point as he took to the doors on his side of the hallway, his partner on the other. 

The building had been just outside of their radar since the case began. In the neighborhood but deemed unimportant. Newly condemned, the only sign of its status being a red sign on all the entrances but no boards or alarms yet. Any noise reports were attributed to squatters and brushed off. Even the beat cops didn’t care enough to really poke around beyond shining flashlights at the dingy windows, content to let the homeless have some shelter for a while. So, when Gavin and his little squad showed up they weren’t expecting much. Litter, signs of addicts passing, maybe an overdose if they were unlucky.

Gavin swallowed the urge to laugh at himself. He circled back to the stairs, peering over the railing to see if he could catch the other two in the house. He could hear floorboards creaking but little else. 

When he looked back, it wasn’t his original partner standing at the end of the hall looking up at the dark black outline of the attic door. No, Lucas had been shorter, roughly Gavin’s height. Narrow-shouldered but solid, his features sharper. 

Gavin’s throat hurt it was so dry.

“Gavin, come on,” Connor said, Lucas’s words not suiting his voice at all, “Last one then we can get out of here.”

He hesitated, staring at Connor’s profile as the android reached for the sting to pull the ladder down.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Gavin spat through gritted teeth causing Connor to stop mid-motion and look at him. This was before Connor, Gavin knew that much. Before his move to homicide. Before everything starting really going wrong in his life.

“What’s up there?” Off-script, Connor’s voice was his own, his mannerisms slowly coming back. He looked up at the door, curious. The darkness around the edges pooled in the peeling paint like watered-down ink. It felt like a living, breathing sickness. The longer Gavin looked at it, the more aware of his inability to leave he became.

“Go  _ away,  _ Connor.”

The android snapped his attention to Gavin with a jarring, unnatural quickness. Gavin didn’t even need to blink for the transition to happen; as if Connor had been looking at him the whole time.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Gavin tried to remember the  _ correct _ sequence of events but wound up just reliving the initial scan of the living room and coming up the stairs on a bizarrely vivid repeat. Changing minor details but always ending up in the same place: the foot of the attic stairs.

He’d wanted to go first. He remembered. In the back of his mind he felt the echoes of his pride, his frustration at finding nothing but another dead end, his worry that the case was going to stall out.

Connor stood next to the steps, too shallow to really be stairs, but not steep enough to be a ladder either. “Detective Reed,” he said, scowling when Gavin tried to take a step backwards. “We don’t have all night.”

Gavin took the steps as slowly as he was able, turning toward Connor and balancing on the balls of his feet to move quickly, quietly, safely. He couldn’t see anything above him, no rafters or movement or light; just blackness. It tugged him up, reeled him in, despite his efforts to resist it. His jaw shook around the wave of nausea that crept up on him.

Why was he doing this? He tried to stop but it felt so unnatural, so wrong. He knew what was up there. He didn’t need to see it again. He wasn’t learning anything from this. 

The second to last step cracked beneath his foot, bowing under his weight a little. He heard it this time. Just like last time. And the time before that. And before that. 

Oh, how hindsight brought out the little details.

He stopped, weight on his leading foot, knee against the attic landing. Shoulders hunched, body low, listening. 

A rustle of movement. The whine and click of machinery. He knew she was here. He didn’t need to see her again. Gavin tried to wrench his eyes shut, but even as he tried the scene played out anyway. Like a movie; no agency on his part. No hope to avoid it now. 

His flashlight made a sweep of the space. Right; shadows stacked against the wall like dolls on a shelf, too far away for details. Left.

A loud, static sound like that split-second blast of a TV being cut from its connection but before it self-mutes. A buzzsaw sound. The screaming of cicadas. Just screaming in general, but with the syncopation and pitch change of words. Of a question posed through a mouthful of tinfoil that would follow him for days, weeks, years, the rest of his hopefully short life.

Every time, no matter how Gavin braced himself, he stumbled back in surprise. Experience, training, steeling himself to the worst of humanity over an ambitious and storied career, fled him. In those critical heartbeats he was green again, freshly minted, out of his depth surrounded by people who knew better. People he needed to prove himself to.

The second stair snapped beneath his weight and his momentum was too great to be stopped by the time he realized there was nothing to catch him.

Gavin tumbled off his sofa, banging his head against the side of the coffee table hard enough to see stars on the way down. He stayed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling until the pain dulled to a throb and his stomach stopped doing backflips.

* * *

  
  


**MAR. 30, 2039. 15:00:15**

Gavin tried his damnedest not to move once he sat down, his left arm held stationary by his right hand just above the elbow. If he didn’t move it, it wouldn’t hurt too much. The tingling in his neck and twitching in his back made that a tall order, but Gavin managed. He took deep breaths and tried not to bounce his heel.

Instead, Gavin let his gaze wander. Outside of Fowler’s office he could see Anderson and Connor standing near Anderson’s desk, talking. Connor was wringing his hands. If exasperation had a picture in the dictionary it would be Anderson’s face. It was like being sixteen and parked outside the principal’s office for fighting again only this time _Gavin_  was the one that had gotten hurt.

Anderson caught Fowler as he passed, the two having a short argument. Alone, Connor got even more antsy, wandering over to Anderson’s desk, turning in place, looking back at Gavin. A grimace of distress flashed across the android’s face. He looked like he was about to say something when Anderson caught his shoulder. The lieutenant just shook his head and reached for something on his desk.

Gavin forced his eyes forward just as Fowler came into the office. “Surprised you’re still here.” He could feel the captain’s eyes on his shoulder. “You should see a doctor. That looks like it really hurts.”

He was in agony with every muscle spasm. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He could tell Fowler was giving him a chance to save face. An out to buy him time to regroup that Gavin’s pride wouldn’t let him take.

“Yeah.”

Fowler went to the filing cabinet, “Well, since you don’t have anywhere pressing to be.” He tossed a full folder on the desk. Gavin could see:  _ Reed, G. M.  _ printed on a sticker on the tab. “We can fill out the incident report together this time.”

Gavin clenched his jaw and braced himself, but there was no berating. No shouting. No provocation. Fowler just fished out a blank report template, sat at his desk, and started filling it out. It was a trap. He was going to let Gavin stew in silence, let him start the conversation, or at least be the first to say something.   Gavin had learned from his father that even irrelevant questions sprung the trap and he wasn’t about to take chances with Fowler. Over time, he slipped into a sort of hazy state, blocking out the pain and waiting for time to pass. He hadn’t realized he’d zoned out until Fowler’s voice jolted him out of it and white hot knife of muscle pain shot down his arm.

“Just what in the Hell did you think you were doing in there?”  Fowler finally said, his desk clear of Gavin’s file and the report presumably forwarded on to IA and HR. “Did you not think there would be consequences? Were you thinking at  _ all? _ ” Gavin didn’t have an answer for any of these questions, so he just let Fowler tear into him. “You’re lucky Connor was there and willing to look out for you.”

That finally got a rise out of him. “Oh yeah. I’m  _ so _ lucky robocop nearly ripped my goddamn arm off.”

Fowler leveled him a blood-chilling glare. “Better than you getting skinned alive by IA when you lay your hands on a civilian in custody.”

Gavin sneered at him, deciding to be belligerent. “Didn’t realize you’d gone soft on perps, cap.”

“Suspect. Gavin, the word you’re looking for is  _ suspect _ .” Fowler threw up his hands in frustration. “You can’t just throw yourself at someone because you think they’re guilty. That’s not your job.” He must have heard Gavin’s snide little laugh because he hammered that point home. “ _ Your _ job is to find out the truth. Not play judge, jury, and executioner because evidence points a certain way at a given hour. You’re better than that.”

Gavin tried not to let the sting of that accusation show, no matter how keenly he felt it.

“What is it about this department getting all the problem children,” Fowler sighed under his breath. When he looked up at Gavin again, he seemed more tired than angry. “This shit needs to stop.”

His silence was telling and he knew it.

“What’s going on, Reed?” the genuine concern in the question left a bitter taste in Gavin’s mouth.

Gavin winced when his shoulder spasmed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For a second Fowler looked ready to drag across the desk and throw him out of the office. Gavin couldn’t blame him. “You didn’t just forget yourself and cross a line in there.” His anger simmered down into something somber; Gavin recognized it as the tone he often took with Anderson. “This wasn’t mouthing off or picking a fight with a coworker. Gavin, you were out of control.”

Gavin pulled his mouth into a thin line. He thought he’d exhibited a perfectly reasonable amount of control. A calculated move based on the crimes of his perpetrator, the  blasé attitude of said perpetrator in regards to those crimes, and how much blunt force trauma to the face could kill a man of that size. He knew better than to say that to Fowler, though. So, he just sat there, good elbow propped up on one arm of the chair feeling his shoulder swell. He stared at a spot on Fowler’s desk, somewhere between the corner and his mug, avoiding eye contact,

“Gavin,” pointed, determined to get his attention.

“Yeah.” He didn’t look up.

“I know there’s a good cop in you somewhere.”

Gavin scoffed, “Yeah, swinging from the ceiling fan,” before he realized what he was actually saying. Out loud. To his  _ boss. _ Despite his better judgment, Gavin glanced up.

Just in time to see Fowler’s eyes widen. His next words were careful, serious and slow like he was talking to a spooked animal. “You know what I’m obligated to say to that, right?”

Gavin set his jaw. No. He’d sit at Fowler’s desk until the sun went down. He’d reset his shoulder himself. He’d work one-on-one with every single workman’s comp guy under the sun, up to and including the ones that had fucked him over in the past. But he wouldn’t do this. “I’m not calling Trish.” He’d actually gone so far as to block not only Patricia Newmaker’s phone number but her email address and those of her assistant; he wanted to talk to her that little.

Fowler sighed. “Look. I respect you, Gavin. I do. I appreciate you not being here to make friends or fuck off. Your work ethic, when you’re on your game, is second to none. But, son, you  _ need _ to get this violent streak of yours under control.” God, could the man sound any more like a disappointed parent? Gavin didn’t sign up for this. A reaming, extra paperwork, some unpaid leave, but not this fake concern bullshit.

“Just because I have one off day-”

Fowler cut him off. “This isn’t  _ one _ off day, Gavin. This is  _ weeks _ of you ending up in my office for some reason.  _ Months _ of complaints about you not working well with others or picking fights or some other bullshit. Hell,  _ Perkins _ said you threatened to pull a gun on him during one of his visits.”

“Not in so many words,” Gavin said, suddenly on the defensive.

“You actually  _ did _ pull a gun on Connor in our own evidence locker!”

“I had no reason to think he wasn’t stealing evidence! There was a Revolution happening!” This wasn’t fair.

Fowler gave him a look that screamed how much he didn’t care about Gavin’s protests. “And don’t even get me started on how you just seem to hang out here without clocking in sometimes.”

Gavin felt a sinking dread in his chest. He couldn’t come up with any more arguments.

“Go see a doctor about that shoulder.” Fowler ordered, gesturing toward the door. “Then take a sick day. Hell, take two sick days. Take all that time off you’ve managed to squirrel away if you need to. Just get your shit together, for your own sake and the department’s. I don’t want to lose a good officer.”

“Yes sir.” Gavin conceded, hauling himself out of the chair and blinking through the pain.

“And please, call Trish.” Fowler said to his back. “Or  _ someone _ over in counselling.”

Gavin ducked out of the office without responding.

Connor and Anderson’s desks were empty when he passed them.

* * *

  
  


**MAR. 30, 2039. 21:12:59**

“He’s some kind of prototype,” Gavin flicked his phone back to speaker and set it on the counter to free up his hand. “I don’t know why they decided to test it out on us, but here we are.” He checked the pan bubbling away in the oven. It still needed some time.

“ _ Sounds like a menace,” _ Maggie’s voice filled his kitchen. “ _ I can’t believe they even keep it around. Maybe they just don’t like you. _ ”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Gavin snorted, letting the oven slam closed and resting his hip against the handle.

“ _ What was that noise- Wait a minute. Am I on speaker? Are you cooking right now? _ ”

“Bitch, I might be.”

His sister’s voice grew shrill, “ _ Motherfucker! You always do this! Why do you only cook when you know I can’t get over there.”  _ A pause and Gavin could just picture the realization dawning on her face, “ _ I swear to God you better not be making Gran’s pot pie without me. _ ”

Gavin tried not to laugh. “And what if I am?”

“ _ I will come over to your house and strangle you in your fucking sleep, that’s what. _ ”

“Then Gran’s recipe dies with me,” he taunted, “and you get  _ nothing _ .”

“ _ You bastard. You didn’t even like Gran.” _

There was a knock at the door. Three sharp, sudden raps rattling the lock chain and his jacket on the hook. A pause and Gavin picked up his phone, switching it off speaker, “Someone’s at the door, hang on.”and Maggie stopped mid-threat. He stood watching the door, waiting to see if the interloper would move on. 

Another knock, louder and more insistent than the first.

“I gotta take care of this.”

“ _ Please don’t go to jail.” _

“Love you too.” With an exasperated sigh, he hung up and tossed his phone on the counter. Gavin stopped a few feet shy of the door and shouted, “Fuck off, I don’t want any.”

“Detective Reed?”

Confused, Gavin unlatched the chain and opened the door, not wide enough to let the android in, but enough that they could see each other. Connor stood a few steps back in the covered causeway. He was still in his work clothes, white dress shirt translucent in a few places from the rain. His hands were tucked behind his back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” How the Hell had he known where Gavin lived? Did he go through his file or something?

Connor blinked at him. “I wanted to apologize about earlier today.”

Gavin’s brain refused to process what the android was saying, “Apologize? What?”

“Your arm,” Connor clarified. He shifted his weight awkwardly, “Hank advised that I should just wait until you came back to work, but that seemed too long to be sincere.”

“Uh huh.” Gavin was going to tell him to get lost, but the sound of something breaking next door distracted both of them. 

It pulled their attention to the closed door at the far end of the causeway. Shouting poured through the closed door, “Get out! Get the fuck out of my house!” Slamming and stomping toward the door. The handle rattled.

Despite having no investment at all in their lives whatsoever, Gavin knew quite a bit about his neighbors. Everything from their family drama to, unfortunately, their sex life. He also knew that the husband, Henry, had a hatred of androids that surpassed even his own after losing two jobs to that great technological leap forward. He knew that Henry kept an aluminum bat in his car on the off chance he caught one unattended pre-Revolution. Gavin wasn’t sure what he did now and, frankly, he wasn’t too keen on finding out with something the department would probably blame and charge  _ him _ for. 

He threw the door open. “In. Now.” When Connor didn’t move immediately, Gavin took him by the lapel and dragged him inside. The next door down swung open with a bang. Long strings of shrieked obscenities burst out, echoing against the concrete. He shut the door just as Henry trudged past on his way to the stairs. A door slamming shut, then, finally, peace and quiet. Gavin let out a sigh of relief.

Connor meandered about his living room. He was holding a box behind his back. When Gavin finally checked on him again, he was sweeping the place. His face turned toward the things Gavin had hanging on the walls. Photos of him and Maggie at her college graduation, a family picture from his parents’ vow renewal, the old squad out for drinks on New Years. A Manfred original his ex had left at their old place hung up on nails by his dining table. A framed newspaper article from his first high-profile collar by his desk. A smattering of certificates, awards, his old ROTC rank pinned to the felt background of his varsity letter. 

Gavin could swear he could see the gears turning; a little loading wheel above Connor’s head as he filed away all this new information. He shook the thought away, maybe he shouldn’t have gone so hard on the pain meds.

Connor followed him into the kitchen, lingering at the corner of the counter where the dining room carpet turned to tile a moment then inching his way in. He fidgeted with the box in his hands. “I picked this up on the way here. I wasn’t sure what you had by way of supplies.”

The tags were still on it when he handed it to Gavin. A new sling, considerably nicer than the one the emergency clinic had given him. Fancy one at that, durable, padded, built-in ice packs. The works. It took Gavin a second to realize it was a legitimate gift. “You didn’t-” He started to say, but couldn’t finish. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It was the least I could do. I’m not sure where I made the error in my calculations, but you were never supposed to get hurt.” He looked so guilty Gavin almost believed him. “Hopefully this will aid in your recovery. You’ve been icing it, right? Taking anti-inflammatories?”

Gavin nearly threw the box at him. “Didn’t know you got a nursemaid setting with your last software update.” He set the box on the counter. “I think I liked you better when the most you would say to me was,” he did the most mocking imitation of Connor he could muster, “‘I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson’ “

Speaking of which, did Anderson know Connor was here? 

The android didn’t contest the point. Or, if he was going to, it never got out. Gavin’s cat jumped up on the counter next to Connor and clamored for this strange new person’s attention. Connor pulled back, a little startled. Not that Gavin’s cat was particularly threatening, big fat loaf that he was. He did weird most people out the first time just by virtue of his size and the perpetual look of anxiety on his face due to the placement of two unfortunate dark spots on his otherwise white face.

“Oh, hello.” Connor looked to Gavin, hand stopping halfway to petting the beast, “What’s its name?”

“Tobias,” Gavin made zero attempt to hide his amusement. “Don’t worry. He’s a lot more friendly than I am.”

“That’s not saying much,” Connor said, holding out his hand for Tobias to sniff. 

Two prim little whiffs and the traitor was rubbing his whole face against the back of Connor’s hand purring like a goddamn lawn mower, dancing around to encourage the android to pet him more. Gavin could only stand and watch as Connor’s face softened to something warm and friendly. The same way it had when he’d stopped to pet Anderson’s dog in the hallway a month ago. Eventually, Connor pulled his hand back and Tobias scooted up to the edge of the counter eagerly leaning forward. When he didn’t seem to get the memo, Tobias meowed obnoxiously at him to get his attention.

Gavin knew he shouldn’t have, but the look of bewilderment on Connor’s face was just priceless. “Face him and bend at the waist a little.” When Connor just looked at him, confused, Gavin stepped over to demonstrate, clicking his tongue and calling, “Tubbs,” to get the cat closer.

Tobias bumped his head against Gavin’s then turned back to Connor when his owner backed away.

“Go on.” 

A brow arched, Connor mimicked Gavin’s gesture and got a headbutt of his own. He twitched back a little. For a second so quick Gavin nearly missed it, Connor’s face positively lit up with delight, eyes a little wide, smile genuine and wide. 

Gavin had to cover his face with his hand to muffle his laughter. He bit the inside of his cheek to school his expression when Connor turned back to him.

“He’s sweet,” the android said, watching Tobias hop down from the counter, satisfied with the attention he’d gotten. “You know, animals are often reflections of their owners.”

“Often is not always,” Gavin countered sourly. He busied himself with cracking open the oven again and pointedly not looking at Connor. He dug through a nearby drawer for oven mitts, but they weren’t there. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Connor slipping past him to look at the things posted on the fridge. Nosy fucker. He didn’t have much on there worth noticing though; a whiteboard with a grocery list, wifi information, a to-do list with half the things crossed out he'd put up weeks ago. A dry erase calendar with his clusterfuck of a work schedule. A caddie filled with old mail, dollar lighters, and takeout menus.

“Who’s your ISP?” Connor asked after a second.

“Why do you ask?” He found his oven mitts on the counter by the sink instead of in their drawer.

“Your wifi password doesn’t have any non-alphanumeric characters in it,” he said, and Gavin nearly dropped the mits, his heart filling with ice water. “Providers are required to include at least four for security. You could be at risk of-”

Gavin swallowed hard and said, “I changed it manually to something I’d remember more easily.”

“Oh.” Connor kept looking at it though, as if trying to puzzle out what it meant.

“Hey,” he called out, throwing the mitts at Connor’s face to get his attention, “If you’re just gonna stand there, make yourself useful and take this out of the oven for me. I don’t want to risk dropping it.”

Connor slipped the mits on without argument. 

On the stove, in the light of the kitchen, it was a little darker on top than Gavin would have liked it to be, but it wasn’t burnt and he wasn’t going to complain about it. When Connor handed the mitts back, he started fanning it to get it cool faster.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Connor commented, investigating the edges where filling threatened to bubble through the seams. 

It was a little sloppy in Gavin’s opinion, Gran was probably rolling over in her grave if she could see her beloved pot pie recipe in such a shoddy state, but it was what he could manage with one arm and a couple hours. “I’m a man of many talents.” He stopped his fanning long enough to get a serving spoon and a plate. It should cool, but he hadn’t eaten all day and Gran wasn’t around to berate him for impatience anymore.

“Is it any good?”

Gavin laughed, cracking the crust with the edge of the spoon, “Oh, sarcasm. You’re so charming.”

“Seemed a legitimate question.” Connor shot back.

“Fucking smartass,” and, without thinking it through, Gavin held out the serving spoon to Connor.  As soon as he’d completed the motion, though, Gavin realized his error and pulled back. “Shit, wait- that’s-” whatever he was trying to say died in his throat when he saw Connor drag a finger along the side of the spoon and bring it to his mouth. “What the actual fuck. You can taste things?”

“Not as such,” Connor said before launching into an explanation of the analytics system he was equipped with that Gavin understood maybe two-thirds of. 

“You have a tech lab,” he said when Connor finished, “in your mouth.”

“Essentially.”

He blinked at the android stupidly. “So you can, what? See a list of ingredients or something?”

“Among other things.”

Gavin tossed the spoon in the sink, sacrificing the bite still on it in the process.

“You know,” Connor was looking at the stove and not Gavin as he spoke, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so hospitable. If I’m being honest, I expected to have a door slammed in my face. It’s a pleasant surprise.”

Gavin clicked his tongue and looked away, trying to find something to focus on. He  _ should _ have slammed the door in Connor’s face. Better, he should have just let him knock, left him out there to be Henry’s problem and feigned ignorance if shit went sideways. He hadn’t  _ asked _ Connor to come over, so it wasn’t like he was responsible for whatever happened to him.   “Well,” he finally settled on saying, “I can still slam it on you. On your way out. Since you’re leaving right fucking now to let me eat in peace.” The tonal shift stunned Connor into immobility for a second longer than Gavin’s patience would allow. So, Gavin started actively shooing him out, “Now.  _ Scram. _ Go darken Anderson’s doorstep and get the fuck out of my hair.”

  
He didn’t  slam the door per se, but he did shut it pretty firmly. Latching the chain, Gavin lingered and listened as Connor’s echoing footsteps retreated down the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**APR. 16, 2039. 17:23:29**

He took his time for once. Flat planes of strange dual-texture skin beneath his palms, fluid and charged then solid. No matter how long he touched it, Gavin was always surprised by its warmth. Stiff synthetic fabric over the back of his knuckles when the slipped beneath the open hems of a shirt. A solid body beneath his own unable to be entirely still. Fingers in his hair, down the back of his neck, muted when they reached his shoulders. 

He pushed himself up onto his knees just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. The box spring groaned under the shift in his weight. A knee nudged him in the side when he wasn’t looking, just hard enough to get his attention.

When he looked down, Connor had his hands behind his head, gaze averted, doing a pisspoor job of feigning innocent disinterest.

It had taken him months, but Gavin learned to embrace the fantasies. Those little pockets of gentleness, of kindness and contact and humanity that cropped up in spaces between nightmares like weeds through cracks in the sidewalk. Even if they were manufactured and always ended just shy of their marks, there was comfort to be had there. And Gavin indulged in it, who would judge him for it? Who else would know?

Connor had the wherewithal to look sheepish and caught under Gavin's gaze, but he didn’t flush the way humans did. Didn’t flush at all. His skin still a stark, pale contrast to Gavin’s dark grey bed sheets. He never lost his breath or shivered. It was frustrating in a way, not being able to see any reaction. Until he stopped, of course, and he got impatient little prods like the knee bumping into his side again.

He eased back down, the feeling of being watched prickling against his skin. He pressed a kiss to a spot just above Connor’s belt and slowly worked his way up. A tingling bitterness seeping into his lips and tongue with every press.

No hurry. No sense of urgency. A hand tangled in his hair. Another slid up his back when they were level again. When he finally got close enough, a mouth pressed a kiss to his temple, his cheekbone, his hairline. Dry, clumsy little presses that were just a bit too firm but not enough to warrant complaints.  A soft puff of air ghosted across the shell of his ear.

A faint, high-pitched whine, like microphone feedback in the next room. Jarring and sudden. He tried to move, but couldn’t; Connor had him by the back of the head, the shoulder blade, and one calf and wasn’t letting go. The android said something, whispered in his ear in a high, feminine lilt that definitely wasn’t his and too garbled behind static and grinding metal to make out the words.

Gavin threw all of his strength into breaking the android’s grip and scrambling up. Connor let him go this time, staying still and watching him. There was something off about it that Gavin couldn’t quite place, but rattled the very marrow of his bones. A certain impossibility to the angle of his joints, an unnatural quality to his pallor now. Gavin tried to ignore it. “What-” a sharp cough to clear his throat and get rid of the last bits of fog in his brain. “What did you say?”

A small, quiet part of Gavin already knew the answer.

Connor pushed himself onto his elbows, with stuttering, jerky motions. Gavin could see the individual plates of his neck when his head lolled to one side as he moved. He blinked his eyes open but instead of the soft brown Gavin had grown to appreciate it, was just dark blue all the way around. The lenses left a lighter disks in the center that moved in a lazy circle before stopping to focus on Gavin. When he opened his mouth the space behind his teeth was solid black.

Gavin saw the words form, could read them clearly in the movements of Connor’s mouth, but didn’t hear his voice anywhere in the cacophony that came out of him. Perfect imitations of impossible sounds, distorted and layered. A series of voices, each distinct and none of them Connor’s talking over top of each other. It made his head pound.

Connor’s face twisted up in confusion. A long leg hooked around Gavin’s to stop him from getting away.

Gavin could only stare as Connor reached for him. Fingers brushed against his lower lip, a nail tapping against his teeth once. They followed a trail across his cheek, taking his face and pulling him in close.

He woke with a gasp, scaring Tobias clear off the bed with how quickly he sat up. He held his face in his hands, staring at the pattern in his comforter, trying to get the image out of his head. His ears were ringing. The whole world felt like it was pitching backwards for a few seconds. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to right himself, but when he did, Gavin fell back against freshly cooled sheets. He bit his tongue to fight back a wave of bitterness. He hadn’t realized he’d been playing with fire all these months, but now that it was clear, that left only one option.

He would have to get Connor out of his head for good.

* * *

 

**APR. 16, 2039. 21:45:30**

 

Gavin, very briefly, considered the Eden Club first. The place had managed to keep a death-grip on its open doors after the Revolution, but only just barely. Both the customer base and the staff had taken severe hits in November that they never really recovered from. They’d gotten rid of their home-rental services altogether, keeping all business in-house. A detail that put Gavin on edge for reasons he couldn’t quite place. There were other changes, he was sure, but his conversation with the owner had been months ago and he’d tuned most of it out anyway. 

On his couch, flat on his back with his legs propped up, arm in the sling even though he  _ technically _ didn’t need to wear it all the time anymore, he leafed through their catalog on his phone. All Trevors because unique names were for chumps apparently, as were faces. Most, if not all, were there same three models just with different skins and color palettes. For thirty bucks plus cab fare and an hour of his night he could get the whole android thing out of his system, discretion guaranteed.

Gavin closed the site three pages into the catalog and felt a little queasy.

So maybe it wasn’t an  _ android _ thing. Maybe his dry spell had just gone on too long. It had been a year and a half since his last hook-up, longer since his last regular fling. Getting out of the house, at the very least, might do him some good. 

Gavin picked himself up off the couch and tried to get his shit in order; a load of laundry, some rummaging through the back of his closet while valiantly attempting to ignore the rhythmic thumping against his bedroom wall, shave and a hot shower that lasted entirely too long.

His phone on the edge of the sink blasting music, Gavin took a long look at himself in the mirror. He looked a hot mess. He tried to remember his old routine from back when he had reasons to be presentable; a boyfriend to keep him in line, parents that dropped in on occasion. He could do this.

He ran his fingers through his damp hair, letting it fall over his left temple a second, but it was too straight and short to look good. He was greying in places. He cocked his head to one side and the scar caught the light. He looked like he’d just walked out of a bar fight, broken nose, bruised eyes and all. He ran his hands over his face, pressing down on the soft spot just above the lower edge of his eye socket, feeling the uneven ridge of bone beneath the thin skin. No amount of scrubbing or ice or attention would get those to go away. 

A private part of Gavin missed the days when Maggie lived with him and would cover up his flaws in exchange for pot brownies and a night to herself.

He sighed, frowning at his reflection. Maybe if he got a guy drunk enough they wouldn’t notice just how awful he looked now. Most of his usual haunts were dark anyway. That was something.

“I can work with this.” He mumbled as the song changed. Synth notes, then a drum beat and sonorous voice echoing off the tile.

A soft jingling bell. A black and white mass lighting up onto the counter next to him. Gavin caught his phone when Tobias knocked it down.  Unlike the last four times, but only just barely and only because it was plugged in. 

“ _ Mrow _ .”

“What?” Gavin scraped his thumbnail against the phone case. “You disagree?”

“ _ Mrow.”  _ Tobias wiggled himself into a sitting position on the one clear spot of counter.

_ “ _ I’ll have you know,” Gavin said, pointing at the cat with his phone, “That what I lack in looks, I make up for in personality.”

Wide green eyes stared up at him. Gavin was sure he was purring even if the sound was drowned out.

“I’m charming, God damn it.”

Tobias’s tail flicked. “ _ Mrow, _ ”

“Don’t judge me, Tubbs.” He set the phone down and plucked his cat off the counter, tossing him back out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him only to get obnoxious meowing a second later.

Eventually, Tobias left him alone, bell retreating until there was only music left to keep him company. Impulsive, Gavin restarted the song. As he dressed, he hummed along with the melody. It didn’t suit his usual tastes in music, but he grew to like it with exposure. He’d even tried learning the words a while back. He had a hard enough time memorizing songs when the words were in English, though and wound up giving up on that endeavor. But the chorus was pretty easy to get consistently right.

“ _ Es muss so rein sein… _ ”

Outside, where he couldn’t see his reflection, Gavin found it easier to get into character. His ex had described it as a “bad boy that just might treat you right but you probably shouldn’t tell your mother about,” after about half a bottle of wine, and Gavin had laughed so scathingly it alarmed even him. The ex, confused, had brushed off the laughter. But then, the poor bastard had gotten to know Gavin and well, there was a reason that relationship didn’t last. Or any of the others for that matter.

He took up a spot at a standing table in his favorite hunting spot; a skeezy little hole in the wall with a maximum occupancy of maybe 200. The place had seen better days and had changed hands over years, but was still at its core a good place to make poor choices and wake up in a bed that wasn’t one’s own. The last time he’d been here it had been one step down from a brothel; now it was one step up from a dive. It suited him just fine though, as long as it was dark, served alcohol, and catered to his tastes Gavin couldn’t care less about aesthetics.

Rejection was the name of the game before midnight. He knew it was coming, but it was still a blow to his pride to not be spared more than a passing glance by the few that caught his attention. He wound up keeping his drinks cheap, and devoid of alcohol, until someone took an interest; better than burning a hole in his wallet just to go home empty-handed.

He spotted a tall, skinny, dark-haired young thing and watched him make his way to a free spot at the bar. All sleek dark lines and shining leather jacket. Thick-rimmed glasses stark against skin that seemed to reflect the blue and purple lighting. Gavin watched him order and sip his drink idly. He didn’t seem to be with anyone.

_ Worth a shot. _

Gavin abandoned his drink, crossing to the bar and slipping into the space between his quarry and the occupied barstool by the wall. “Hi.”

Oh, he was even more attractive up close; all gentle brown waves and big dark eyes. The glasses, earrings, and jacket attempted to combat the youthful smoothness of his face and failed miserably. His fingers fiddled with the stem of his glass; heavy rings, dark painted nails. He looked Gavin over slowly in unabashed appraisal. 

Gavin kept his expression neutral, leaning against the bar, scanning for a back up plan if this didn’t work out.

“Hi, back,” a soft voice that struggled to be heard over the din. A clever little smile, like he knew something Gavin didn’t.

Oh, he’d do nicely.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Gavin offered.

Another, quicker assement. “Sure,” he trailed off, questioning.

“Gavin.”

He raised his mostly empty glass in a little toast, “Jeremy.”

Gavin flagged down the bartender.   
  


* * *

 

**APR. 17, 2039 09:12:53**

 

Gavin checked his messages on his way down the stairs. Two missed texts from Maggie because of course the day she decided to contact him after a week of radio silence was the one day he wasn’t checking his phone.

_ How’s the arm? Did you ever get around to making that phone call? _

Then, two hours later:  _ You better not be ignoring me again. >:[  I thought we were past this. _

He cleared his notifications and made a mental note to call her at some point. After he made up a plausible lie to get out of being nagged and browbeaten of course.

It was a clear day, quiet and still a little cool even in the sun. He had a couple hours before the church crowds flooded the sidewalks hunting down brunch and coffee, he might as well enjoy it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he started walking in the general direction of his apartment.

Jeremy’s neighborhood was nice. Much nicer than his own. The gentrified sort of place with new architecture and commissioned graffiti to make it look weathered and interesting but lacked soul and purpose. The kind of place that got its trees from the next town over; with fountains and foot-traffic-only paths between roads. Corner bistros instead of convenience stores with stale honey buns and coffee filters on rotation. The kind of place people who worked consistent hours for decent money lived in clusters, and truly rich lived alone.

Gavin laughed at himself  for being some silver spoon’s rebellious mistake. He certainly had a type.

He wound his way past closed stores with darkened windows and meter-timed parking lots, eventually happening upon a chain link fence that came up to shoulder level, shiny and new, around a huge plot of lush greenery. He ran his fingers over the rough metal. A pair of dogs, a beagle and a yellow lab if he had to guess, came running up to him on the other side. He pulled his hand away quickly. Wet noses poked through the links of the fence sniffing at him and whining. 

In the distance he could see a few dogs running free. An older couple sat on a bench with a fat corgi on the ground at their feet. Bright flashes of color; tennis balls, Frisbees, other throwables cut across the field, some chased by balls of fur, some not. A man in his seventies jogged past with a grey-faced German Shepherd on his right and an android on his left. Gavin started walking again, putting some space between himself and the fence.

“Good boy, Sumo.”

Gavin stopped, his head swiveling toward the voice. It took him a second to spot him. A little ways up a cobblestone footpath was Connor, sitting on his knees in the shade of a tree. Anderson’s bulky St. Bernard had its head in his lap and was rolled on its back. Sunlight speckled both of them.

Stopping by a gate Gavin watched.

Connor looked so different out of his work attire. A loose-fitting faded grey t-shirt with a design on the front in a peeling black that Gavin couldn’t see details of replaced his jacket and dress shirt. There was pollen on his shoulders and sticking to a hat that covered up his LED. A few curls had managed to escape and hang about his brow. He was beaming, scratching the dog’s belly with both hands, and laughing as its foot kicked the air.

It wasn’t until Connor stopped and urged the dog up that Gavin realized he’d started smiling too. He clenched his fists in his pockets and forced his gaze away. He felt like he’d just run a mile; too warm and breathless, his chest aching. 

The jogger cut across the edge of his vision. A black lab came up to the fence next to him.

He tried to shake off the feeling, urge his body to move. Just leave. Walk away and never look back, but his feet just wouldn’t cooperate.

“Detective Reed?”

_ Fuck. _

Gavin turned around to see Connor, leash in hand, squeezing his way out the gate without letting any of the loose dogs out behind him. Anderson’s dog trotted up to Gavin while Connor was distracted and sniffed at his pant leg, leaving a trail of slobber against the black fabric.

“What are you doing out here?” Gavin said, snippy and defensive “Anderson getting his money’s worth?”

“I always take Sumo here on Sundays.” Connor said, “He needs the exercise.” He looked down at the dog, “Right Sumo?”

“ _ Boof _ .”

Gavin rolled his eyes.

“What are  _ you _ doing on this side of town?” Connor’s eyes swept over him and Gavin ground his teeth.

“Walking,” he was pretty sure he’d managed to keep a straight face and turned to walk off.

Connor fell into step beside him.

“Um,” Gavin glared at him, stepping to the side to put some distance between Connor, the dog, and himself, “Excuse you.”

Connor just met his gaze, innocent as could be. “What? I have to go this way.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to walk together.”

“Who said we were?”

Gavin’s mouth fell open. A prickling heat spread across his face. He forced his eyes forward and clenched his fists in his pockets. His pulse was pounding in his ears drowning out all other sounds; their footsteps, the dog panting between them, bird songs and cars passing. Every square of sidewalk they traversed just made him more keenly aware that Connor was walking beside him. The memory of Anderson’s garage bubbled up in his mind, then the fantasy from the day before, the feeling of skin beneath his hands from last night.

“How’s your shoulder? I see you’re out of the sling.”

Oh God, he was making small-talk now.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gavin was a little grateful to be pulled out of his own head. “Fine,” he said sharply. A safe, default answer.

“Good.” Connor sounded genuinely relieved, “I worried I might have done lasting damage.”

Gavin laughed, bitter and hollow. “It was only a matter of time really. You know what they say about it being easier to dislocate a joint a second time.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder before? That’s  _ it _ . I never factored in a previous injury when I made my calculations.” He sighed, “That’s been bothering me for weeks.”

“You’re welcome?”

Connor smiled at him and something in Gavin’s chest cramped hard enough to make him cough. “How did you hurt it before?”

“I thought we just-so-happened to be walking in the same direction. All this talking implies we’re walking  _ together _ .”

Connor didn’t say anything.

The silence buzzed in his ears like an annoying insect. Gavin tried to distract himself by reading the names on storefronts, or just the addresses on buildings, street signs, anything really. Just a failed attempt to get the sound out of his ears, but it wasn’t enough. It prickled across his skin like pins and needles, winding him up with frustration until he finally blurted out, “It’s an embarrassing story.”

“Oh?” Why did he have to sound so damn interested?

Gavin huffed. “Yeah. I was working a case a few years back. One of my first cases, actually. My team was poking around this old abandoned house on a lead about some missing kids. Place was falling apart. We get to the attic and I head up first. It’s one of those rickety-ass folding things.” He held his hand out at the shallow angle he remembered the steps being to illustrate. "I got to the top and,” his voice failed him.

For the length of a couple buildings, Gavin’s mind went back to that attic. His heart pounded in his throat as his flashlight swept over shadows. A buzzing at his left ear.

“Gavin?”

He blinked and he was on the street again. Connor watched him expectantly.

“Sorry. I- uh.” He shook his head trying to remember his place.

“You got to the top of the stairs,” Connor prompted.

“I  _ almost _ got to the top,” Gavin corrected, though he thought it fell a little short of the mark. He covered it up by quickly blowing through the rest of the story.  “One of the steps gave out on the way up and I fell.” He laughed awkwardly, staring with laser focus at the sidewalk ahead of them. “You know,”  _ Calm down _ . “How there’s a right way to fall to minimize injury? Imagine the opposite. That’s how I went down those stairs. Dislocated shoulder, hairline fracture, concussion. It was mortifying.”

When he turned, Connor was giving him a bemused look; head tilted, brow furrowed, jaw working like he wanted to say something.

“What?”

Connor was silent a few more steps before saying, “Nothing.” 

They arrived at a corner, Gavin started to follow the flow of pavement to the right, but noticed that Connor had stopped at the crosswalk a second after the android did. “Enjoy the rest of your Sunday, Gavin.” he said. Gavin almost returned the farewell, but Connor kept talking, “You might want to ice that bruise before it gets worse.”

Gavin must have looked as confused as he felt, because Connor touched two fingers to the side of his neck, just below his jaw. Gavin mimicked the motion and felt a patch of overly smooth skin there and a little sting when he put pressure on it. 

The light turned green and the android and the dog continued on their way.

  
Alone, Gavin spun in place, looking at his reflection in a blackened window. A spot of darkness interrupting the line of his neck in an irregular blotch. “Oh fuck  _ me,” _ Gavin growled at his reflection. He didn’t know which was worse, that he’d walked around a bougie neighborhood with a hickey on display, or that  _ Connor _ had been the one to point it out to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take back anything I said about chapter delays.  
> Because writing is how I deal with stress.  
> Even if it's really counter-productive.

**APR. 28, 2039. 02:16: 20**

 

He was sinking, slowly and steadily, pulled down by a weight around his heart. The air was thick, akin to water but still breathable. Everything was hazy. Dark. Neither warm nor cold. Musty like returning to a room one’s nose was no longer acclimated to. 

Strong hands worked at the tense muscles of his shoulders; thumbs really digging into the knots and tension there. Gavin groaned at a particularly painful pinch at the base of his neck, but relief was immediate. He tilted his head to test the muscles when the hands moved on to his upper back. Loose and limber, he’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

The hands pushed him down, manhandling him for the best angle. Gavin was pretty sure he was on a bed, most likely his own, but wasn’t about to open his eyes to find out just yet.

Rough fingers poked around on either side of his spine, searching for the next sore spot, the next tense knot that demanded attention. They found a mark at his lower back and pressed in deep enough to really hurt.

Gavin sank a little further into that weird, dark place

Kinks worked out, one hand slid around his waist, following the dip between his ribcage and hip. A cool kiss pressed between his shoulder blades as the full weight of another person settled against his back. The hand dipped lower, the kisses inched higher, right up to his hairline.

Gavin took a shaky breath and swore under it, unable to decide which touch to arch into.

Teeth scraped at his ear. A smooth, dry tongue swept across his pulse point. “You like that.” low, reproving, with just enough of a disappointed edge to make Gavin shudder. A soft tutting and the hand danced back up his side. Long hair brushed against his back.

He smelled dust and mildew and ammonia. It made him dizzy.

Fingers tapped his lips; Gavin didn’t hesitate in parting them. He gave the pretense of a fight by catching the first joints between his teeth, and wound up with nearly gagging when he let them go and those fingers slid all the way to the back of his tongue almost down his throat.

A strong thigh slid between his own. Something wet dripped against his cheek.

Gavin refused to open his eyes. He sank a little deeper. Some higher, more rational part of his brain knew he was trapped. The bed below him, the body above, it all left him few options for egress. It was blaring a siren on the edges of his thoughts. A reminder that something was horribly wrong. Gavin tried to ignore it, focusing on the points of contact, the knuckles brushing the roof of his mouth, the weight against his back. He tried to enjoy it.

Then there was a high whine in his ear, a tinnitus ring where the voice had been. Gavin flinched away from it, but couldn’t get far.

Static broken and autotuned into a question.

Gavin tried to get away, eyes flying open to solid darkness ahead of him, but the android wouldn’t let him go. He struggled, digging his elbows into the bed, trying to get his other limbs to cooperate, failing miserably on all fronts. In his ear the static was stuck on a stuttering, infuriating repeat. 

On the edges of his vision, Gavin could see Connor’s profile, mouth working around the words, brow knitted in distress like even  _ he _ couldn’t stop himself from saying it. Or he  _ thought _ it was Connor anyway, but he’d never seen Connor without the synth skin on, and frankly he never wanted to. Less so now. The android seemed to notice his looking and snapped its sightless gaze at him. It inched forward, cheek to cheek with him.

Nails scratched the back of his throat.

 

Gavin woke gagging and sputtering at his desk, unable to catch his breath. He clapped a hand over his mouth, pinching his nose between his thumb and the side of his hand. If he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t hyperventilate. His stomach clenched and his throat opened as he retched into his palm. He wrapped his free arm around his middle, tipped his head back, and waited for the feeling to pass.

_ Do not throw up on your desk. You are at work. Get it together. _

But it just wasn’t happening. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t power through it. There was nothing to focus _on_ ; just bright light and dullness. A quiet night where the silence of working exclusively with androids, a thing he once enjoyed, damned him. In his ears there was just echoing carrying over from the nightmare into the waking world, each word a lightning strike in a dry forest.

When his stomach gave up fighting, Gavin pushed his chair out and bent forward, folding in half and unblocking his nose in a desperate bid to get his head clear. Breathing through his nose was difficult and filled his mouth with the taste of copper when he finally managed it. His eyes started to water, something dripped over the back of his hand.

_ It was just a dream _ . He repeated over and over in his head trying to drown out the static.  _ It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. _

Every time he looked somewhere other than the floor it was like the world was shaking. Vibrating or seen through a heat haze. He coughed into his hand. His vision dimmed and went black around the edges.

A hand touched his shoulder. Gavin’s shout of terror was muffled by his palm, but the crash of him falling out of his chair was painfully loud. He landed hard on one knee and only narrowly avoided clipping his temple on the edge of the desk. Gavin scrambled away until his back hit something solid before looking up.

For the briefest of seconds, Gavin was blinded by the fluorescent lights. And in those seconds all he saw was the white-faced, Thirium-dripping  _ thing _ that had rested its head on his shoulder and tried to choke him. Every muscle in Gavin’s body wound tight. His heart leapt into his throat and just shook there.  Was he still dreaming? How was he supposed to wake up this time? Could he even wake up?

He closed his eyes and waited for the whole thing to pass. He heard his chair rolling across the tile. The shift of fabric.

When Gavin opened his eyes, Connor was kneeling a short distance away, his hands raised, placating. Farther from the lights, Connor looked a bit more like his usual self; fair, freckled skin, soft brown curls, dark brows knitted up in concern. “Gavin? Can you hear me?”  his voice was so quiet and low, Gavin almost couldn’t.

_ It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. _

The tension finally rattled its way out of him. Gavin pulled his hand away from his mouth with an unsteady breath.

“You're having some kind of panic attack,” Connor told him. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Gavin swallowed hard and wrenched his burning eyes shut. Next to him, he could hear Connor breathing, deliberately loud and slow. In for four seconds. Hold for four seconds, Out for four seconds. Gavin mimicked it as best he could. In, hold, out, repeat. He coughed and sputtered the first few times, muffling the noise with his hand again.

“It’s okay,” was all Connor said as Gavin struggled to recover. 

In, hold, out, repeat.

Gavin tried again. It was a little easier.

In, hold, out, repeat. Counts of six this time.

When Gavin dared to look again, he had to shade his eyes from light of the room. It was like a hammer straight to his brain. Luckily for him, Connor seemed to have been the only one to notice, or at least care about his little episode. It was the only benefit of working the graveyard shift with the androids and moving to a more secluded desk. No one to bother him No one to see him. If he closed his eyes he could picture himself alone, the bullpen all to himself. 

“You’re bleeding,” Was the only warning Gavin got before a wad of something rough and thin pressed to his septum, tipping his head backward. Bleeding? He wet his lips and sure enough, he tasted copper. Through half-lidded eyes he could see Connor looking him over. 

A very small, very weak part of Gavin wanted to collapse against him. To throw the weight of his burdens elsewhere for a time. To bury his face in the crook of Connor’s neck and hold on for dear life. Just find a place in his arms to rest and recover. A port in a storm.

Connor pulled his hand back when napkins had soaked through, refolding the woven paper to expose a dry side with a few deft movements of his fingers. Before the android could press it back to his nose, Gavin reached up and took it from him.

He’d rather drown.

He tilted his head from side to side to see if he could feel which nostril was bleeding the worst. The feeling of liquid slowly running down the inside of his nose made him shudder, but at least it was a hint. He tore off a clean section of the napkins, rolled it into a ball, and forced it as deep as he could manage. It would do for now.

“How are you feeling?” Connor asked. Fuck he was still here.

Gavin avoided the question with silence, scrubbing the worst of the mess off his face. Shame filled the indents terror’s grip left behind. He didn’t know how to talk his way out of this. He couldn’t bother to try. “I’m fine,” he croaked.

“You sound like you’re in pain.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He could feel his heartbeat in every artery his head possessed all the way down to his tonsils. It probably would have hurt less if he  _ had _ brained himself on the edge of his desk. At least then he might be unconscious. He didn’t dream when he blacked out.

“I think Hank keeps some ibu-”

Gavin shook his head. “I’ve got Excedrin in my desk.” Gavin only got one type of headache strong enough to warrant pain medication: severe. Never enough to be considered a migraine comparable to his mother’s, but enough to put him on his ass for half a day. He’d learned over the years that if he kept his head down and didn’t really do anything, two pills would let him survive through to dawn and he would make up for lost time later. 

“I can get it.”

Gavin was already reaching up for the edge of his desk with his good arm and dragging himself to his feet.

“Or not.”

The half-empty bottle slid to the front of the drawer as soon as Gavin opened it. He’d gone through way too many for it to only be April. He sighed, nothing could be done about it now. He tapped two out into the center of his dry left palm, started to bring his hand to his mouth, and was stopped by Connor’s voice beside him.

“You really shouldn’t take those dry.”

Gavin longed for the day that he could set someone on fire with a glance. “What are you? My mother?” he rasped, but he was hardly in a position to argue. His mouth and throat burned like he’d swapped out his normal mouthwash for battery acid anyway. A cup of water or two wouldn’t hurt him. Reluctantly, he closed his hand and stalked over to the break room, fully aware of how much of a wreck he looked, but he was in too much pain to care anymore.

Connor followed him. “Have you considered talking to a professional?” He was asking. Gavin was grateful that he was keeping his voice low, even if he wouldn’t shut up. “It could improve your life dramatically.”

Gavin wondered as he filled a cup with water at the sink, if Connor was talking to make himself feel better. By the time his cup was full, he’d rejected the idea. What did Connor need to feel better about? He wasn’t the one that had lost his composure in public and now had nurse his way through the rest of the night.  He tried to think of something pithy to say, staring at his reflection in the tap, but nothing came. He looked dead on his feet, eyes sunken, complexion sallow. He tossed the capsules into his mouth, chased with a healthy swig of water, then turned to face Connor, flashing his open mouth. “There, happy?”

The android sighed at him. “Gavin, you’re showing signs of…” he rubbed his hands together, “of  _ severe _ mental distress. They’ve only gotten worse over time, the insomnia, the outbursts, now this.” Gavin started grinding his teeth and it lit his head up so bright he almost passed out. “You’re showing signs dangerous anxiety. Possibly even Post Traumatic Stress.”

Gavin found that if he chewed on the rim of his cup it didn’t hurt as much.

“I can get you in contact with a professional.” Gavin’s resolve was fraying the longer Connor talked. “Someone who can help.”

Rage dragged Gavin across the break room right into Connor’s space. Rage lifted his free hand to flick the little holographic triangle on Connor’s breast. And a deep, nauseating bitterness said, “The only time CyberLife wants to  _ help _ is when they have something to hide.” He drained the rest of the water to give his throat enough strength to tack on, “Why the fuck do you think you even came here?”

“I was originally sent to investigate the deviants,” Connor said, wary.

“To deal with it  _ discreetly _ , right?” Gavin’s voice was cloying even to him, “Keep the whole nasty business in-house with a detective staring down the barrel of a pink slip? Hell, knowing Anderson, of an  _ actual gun. _ ” He crushed the empty cup in his fist but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped. “Some things never change.”

“I don’t work for CyberLife anymore,” Connor said as Gavin tried to pass him. “I haven’t for months. I just want to help.”

“Sure you do.”

“ _ Gavin. _ ” Since concern wasn’t working, Connor tried authority and Gavin made sure it backfired for him.

He rounded on the android, stopping him in his tracks so close they were nearly touching. “The last time I let you fucks help me, you sat me down in front of some glassy-eyed twat in a lab coat for two hours.” He took a step forward, and to his surprise, Connor took a step back. He kept going until he had the android backed into the wall, “And you know what she told me, Connor? That it couldn’t have happened the way I remembered it. It wasn’t  _ possible _ . That my face getting real intimate with the floor was causing me to  _ fabricate _ things.”

Connor blinked at him, LED still yellow. Trying to corroborate his story with records. He wasn’t going to find anyway, but Gavin paused long enough to let him look.

“She wrote me a prescription for Ambien and sent me on my merry fuckin’ way. So  _ forgive me _ , for not being so keen on shelling out a couple hundred dollars so some floozy with a degree can write me off with drugs and call me a goddamn liar.”

He backed off, turning away and throwing the crushed cup in the nearest recycling bin with entirely too much force. He started to retreat back to his desk. He’d said way too much already.  Now that he could see the other androids looking, heads turned or just glancing his way, Gavin realized that he  _ did _ care what they were seeing of him. He felt exposed; stripped down to nothing and flogged before a city square for no specific crime other than existing as he did. He felt small. Insignificant. Easily replaced.  He felt his anger seep away, like sweat beading on his skin or the sluggish bleed of road rash.

The click of Connor’s footsteps followed behind him.

“Just because you had one --legitimately- bad experience with a therapist.” he came around the side of Gavin’s desk as Gavin sat back down, “doesn’t mean you should give up on seeking help entirely.”

He was too tired for this. “Connor,” maybe sincerity would work on the android, it seemed to work so well on  _ him _ , “I don’t want advice. I want to be left alone.”

“Gavin-”

He plowed right over him. “If I change my mind and want advice, I’ll ask for it. Okay? But I didn’t fucking ask.”

“I just wanted-”

“Did I ask?” when he thought about it later, Gavin would cringe at how viciously it came out.

Connor caved a little bit, hands fidgeting at his sides. He glanced over at his own desk and for a second Gavin genuinely thought he was going to go. “Your behavior is concerning.”

“I’m fine now, really.” A twinge of guilt. Connor  _ had _ come to check on him when he was in distress. Had sat with him on the floor and guided his breathing. He could have just sat back and let him suffer like the other androids seemed content to do. 

“At least take a day to take care of yourself. You didn’t after I dislocated your shoulder. Now would be a good time,” Connor said. God, how long was he going to keep this up?

Gavin’s resolve was crumbling before his very eyes. He just wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds in some semblance of privacy. Was that too much to ask? He sighed, “If I take a long weekend will that get you off my ass?” He swallowed around the ball of anxiety that came up after the question.

Connor gave a little nod, “I’ll take on your cases myself, if it makes it easier.”

It did, but Gavin wasn’t about to admit that. “If anything’s fucked up when I get back on Monday, I’ll take a blowtorch to your face, I swear to fucking God.”

Connor held up his hands, but his expression finally softened “It won’t be. I promise.”

Gavin let out a little laugh, “I guess I was wrong about you being here to replace Anderson. Shoulda known they’d gun for me.”

Connor’s face fell, and Gavin had to look away. “I’m not trying to replace you, Gavin. I’m trying to help you  _ stay on _ .  I don’t understand why you’re going so far out of your way to not see that. ”

Gavin didn’t have an answer. No. That wasn’t true. He  _ did _ have an answer, but it involved Connor actually giving a shit about him even though he’d done so much to not deserve it. It involved Connor actually caring for the sake of caring. It involved an android being a better person than he was.

“You still have blood on your face,” Connor said when the silence dragged on too long.

Watching him walk way stung more than if Connor had finally stooped to his level and just slapped him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna apologize in advance.

**APR. 28, 2039 10:00:21**

 

He couldn’t dream if he didn’t sleep.   
  


* * *

 

**APRIL 2039**

 

Gavin’s family would attest to the fact that he’d always been an insomniac. Hyperactive as a child, anxiety-ridden and closeted as a teenager, perfectionist as an adult.  Sleep had been a secondary thing to him for as long as he could remember. It was something that happened  _ to _ him when his body was too exhausted to go on. His parents had worried when he was small, but he learned to hide it from them by puberty and they figured he’d just grown out of it.

It drove roommates in college crazy. He wasn’t a loud person by any stretch, but he did move about, coming and going at all hours. Always with something to do. He could take lazy days if pressed or promised some worthwhile payout for being still, he just preferred not to. 

Four or five hours would get him through a typical day. Two hours was survivable if he’d managed to only have desk work or, better, a day off. 

His doctor worried about his blood pressure.

To his credit, Gavin had tried to develop a normal sleep schedule at one point. His boyfriend at the time had even attempted to help. He tried everything he could get his hands on; melatonin tablets, over the counter sleep aids, hot teas, avoiding technology after a certain hour, blackout curtains, white noise machines, working himself to exhaustion, weed brownies, sex, even giving up coffee for two months. But nothing worked more than a couple times to his unending frustration until, eventually, he gave up the endeavor despite protests that prescriptions might help him. That he should see a doctor. Participate in a study. Go to therapy.

Things got so heated that the boyfriend blocked him on every social media outlet he had.

Then the nightmares started, and REM sleep became a thing to actively avoid. Weeks would roll by when not sleeping was better because at least he could be calm. A twenty minute power nap took the edge off every few hours but he still felt himself slowly, but surely, wasting away.

Nights were worse than days. Especially the long ones a few days in when all he could do was stare at the wall, eyes burning, feeling his heart do its damnedest just to keep him alive. Nights when 2 a.m. showers bought him a few seconds of relief; dim light, time to close his eyes, and hot water to relax the tension out of his muscles, but little else. Nights when he’d wake up in a cold sweat every time he let himself sink into the pillows with no memory of what had happened while he was asleep.

Still beat the nightmares but the margin was a slim one.

Over the last six months, Gavin had taken up catnapping at his desk at work when he was on nights. Or in his car between outings. There was something about the constant change of scenery, or perhaps it was the publicness of such places,that allowed him to get some truly restful shut-eye. Connor usually woke him up if he went out at his desk, though Gavin couldn’t help but notice the intervals between his last glance at the clock and the android throwing a stress ball at his head were getting wider and wider before his little episode in the bullpen. Chris caught him in the parking garage once and joked that he should consider moving if his neighbors had forced him to this point.

Gavin would never think of moving and risk losing the one plausible alibi he had.

He also would never think he’d miss fantasizing about Anderson’s pet android at all hours, but here he was.

Ever a creature of habit, craving routine, Gavin tried to pretend he was okay. He kept the lights dim and forced himself to stay standing. Laundry, dishes, scoured countertops, anything he could do that didn’t make much loud noise got ticked off the to-do list. He chugged ice water and chewed saltines for most of the daylight hours. Fed Tobias. Collapsed on the sofa, when his head spun too much to stand.

Around mid-afternoon, he sat cross-legged on his bed, elbows on his thighs, hunched down scouring the internet on his phone for advice. The search turned up nothing he hadn’t already tried.

He tried to a text to Maggie, remembering that he needed touch base with her before she worried, but wound up not knowing what to say. Everything he tried just sounded like he was lying to get her to stop. Probably because he was. He stared at the message log for two solid minutes before moving on to something else.

Eavesdrop on the neighbors. Get dressed. Leftovers looked scarce and well past their prime, but it was enough to stop the dizziness and cramping in his stomach with minimal effort on his part.

When the sun went down, Gavin forced himself out of the apartment. The air was muggy and warm, construction had stopped for the day, and the touristy dinner crowd was still holed up in restaurants. He’d walk two blocks to a rundown little store loaded with ancient vinyl and second-hand books that made the bookshelves sag under the sheer volume of them. The east wall taken up by a cobbled together little coffee and tea shop with specials written on black dry erase board in neon colors and curling script.  He ordered whatever tea was on special, a floral under-sweetened concoction that lingered on the back of his tongue and behind his molars and a sweet bready thing pretending to be a scone, then crammed himself in a darkened back corner pretending to read until close.

His night was spent lying on the living room floor, slingshotting thick rubber bands into the kitchen for Tobias to chase and bring back. Two more Excedrin when he turned the ceiling fan on to get some fresh air flow. Another failed attempt to text his sister. Back on the floor with Tobias curled up on his stomach. 

Nursing a chilled glass filled with straight rum at three in the morning just to stop the shaking in his hands for an hour or so. Going through his backlog of podcasts for noise until his headphones hurt his ears; sonorous voices and dull topics that didn’t require his attention. It made him drowsy, and there might have been a micronap in there somewhere, but he was always awake to make sure the episodes queued in the proper order.

And then the sun would come up and the cycle would repeat itself. Each hour more difficult to remember than the last.

An unknown number sent him three messages starting at around eight on Friday. The first was a picture. Gavin scowled at the notification wondering if someone had accidentally given a creep his number as a fake again. But no, it was an innocent thing of a dog, front paws splayed out in front of it, butt in the air  staring down a raggedy plush rabbit held by the photographer. A little swirl in the corner flashed and, amused, Gavin tapped the image. The dog hopped forward and inch, tail wagging hard enough to make its whole butt wiggle, it ended at an impatient little “Boof!” and the dog rushing toward the camera.

It took three watches for Gavin to realize he’d seen that dog before. Anderson’s St. Bernard. 

The next message was a little caption sent immediately after. “Get some rest this weekend.”

Gavin closed his eyes and waited for the prickling in his nose to pass. When it did, he saved the number as  _ Break Glass [C]  _ which conveniently stuck it above  _ Break Glass [H]  _ in his contacts list.

The third message came about an hour later, a square of names, email addresses, and phone numbers. The one at the bottom being that of Patricia Newmaker making the rest, by association, her colleagues at the Mental Health Resource Center. Gavin immediately deleted the message, but only toyed with the idea of blocking the number. 

Maggie tried to get in touch with him twice. Saying she hadn’t talked to him in weeks and she was starting to worry again and all she needed was a quick message so she knew he was still alive and not to make her come up and kick his door and face in. When she called later that day he didn’t answer. She hated talking to him when he was like this. He didn’t want a lecture. It was better for both of them this way. He left a note for himself on the fridge to apologize to her at some point.

But until then he soothed the sting of her worry in coffee and tedium.

* * *

 

**MAY 03, 2039 07:30:26**

 

“ _ Gavin Michael-- I fuckin-” a sigh “Please answer your goddamn phone. It’s been over a month now and… And you’re really starting to scare me again. I know that… I get the whole weekly check-in thing is annoying but I just- I wanna- After Lucas, I- Fuck, you know what? Fine. Whatever. If I don’t hear back from you by Wednesday I’m calling your boss. Or driving up there to punch you. I haven’t decided yet. Just… please take care of yourself. Call me back, Gav. I’ll have my phone on me all day. Love you.” _

Message deleted.

“ _ Gavin? This is Connor. It’s midnight and you still haven’t come in. Your absence is doubly concerning in the context of Thursday... If you don’t show at some point, or I don’t hear back from you, I’ll stop by your apartment in the morning.” _

If he’d possessed any more energy, Gavin would have thrown his phone down the hallway. As it was he just tossed it on his coffee table and sat back on his couch. The last thirty hours or so were a blur, huge chunks of time just missing. He could have sworn he’d sent responses to deflect concern, but looking at the logs told him he hadn’t. 

_ Knock, knock, knock. _ A long pause, then another more insistent knock.

Gavin stared at it blankly for a long, uneasy moment, thinking he’d started hallucinating.

Then Connor’s voice called through his door, “Detective Reed?”

Gavin hauled himself off the couch and staggered over to the door. His head felt like it was cracking in half. His ears were ringing, his chest ached, and his throat burned. He’d gone on benders that were less awful than this. But, he made it to the door. Leaning against the frame he swung it open as far as the chain would allow. “There. You put eyes on me,” he said, by way of hello. “Still alive. Satisfied?” He tried to slam the door in Connor’s face.

But he was stopped by a single raised hand from the android and what appeared to be no effort at all. Connor leaned a little closer, trying to get a good look at him. “You look terrible.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel pretty don’t you?” Gavin sneered, “Fuck off. Let go of my door.”

Connor asked him another question but it didn’t register.

It would end soon. It always ended. When the bands were stretched to thin and snapped and his brain gave up on conjuring images. He’d get some reprieve and then it would start up again. Granted, this was the worst it had been in years, but he’d recovered from it before. He’d recover from this too. And he sure as fuck didn’t need Connor’s help. Or Maggie’s. Or anyone’s. He did just as well on his own.

“I’m fine,” he said when he noticed Connor was waiting for an answer.

“Clearly you’re not.” The android argued

Gavin sneered at him, “Maybe I’m just not a morning person. That ever cross your mind?”

Connor stared him down, mouth drawn. The morning sunshine in the causeway washed him out in yellows and oranges; gave him a flush, warmed up his eyes, and obscured the yellow circle of his LED and for a moment Connor was legitimately human. 

Gavin felt something in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t put a name to but knew was dangerous and hated it.

“Gavin,” Connor’s face turned passive; another attempt to use terse authority to wrestle control from him. “Let me in.”

But he wasn’t having it. “No.”

Which was, apparently, the incorrect answer.

Connor, without breaking eye contact, reached through the gap in the door, hooked three fingers around the lock chain, and pulled down. Once. The housing that connected the chain to the door came free with a  _ snap _ and it clattered against the wall by Gavin’s head. “It wasn’t a request.”

The chill in his blood soothed the burning behind his eyes and gave him a moment of clarity. He remembered the story Anderson told about how Connor had broken into his house when they first started working together. Gavin worried for his door, he didn’t really have the money to replace it. So he swung it open hard enough that the doorknob caught on a pre-existing dent in the wall and stayed that way. “Fine.”

Connor picked his way in stopping just over the threshold. He scanned the place slowly, from one end to the other. Gavin let him, wandering back to his couch and sitting down. He had nothing to hide. No liquor bottles on display since he’d run through his stash Sunday night and didn’t trust himself enough to buy more. The place was spotless; no matter how shit he felt or how much sleep he lost he’d be damned if someone called him a slob. The cat cared for and probably curled up on his bed down the hall. Surely, Connor would be satisfied and leave him alone.

No such luck. Instead Connor said, “You’ve been compulsively cleaning,” as he shut the door.

Gavin felt the words like a shock. “I had a long weekend and decided to be productive during it. That’s not a crime,  _ off-i-cer _ .”

Connor rocked back on his heels and gave Gavin a look he’d seen on Maggie’s face so often it was her default expression now; exasperated patience. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

Gavin honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten  _ real _ sleep. Surely it was recent or he’d be dead by now. But the only attempts that came to mind where those few minutes of darkness followed by immediate alertness, his whole body shaking and his heart doing double time. 

“I manage,” is what he said aloud. Connor probably would have called him out for lying anyway.

“You know that long periods without rest can be extremely detrimental to your health,” Connor said. “It can lead to increased risk of heart problems, hypertension, ulcers. Your immune system plummets-”

“Jesus Christ, you nag Anderson this much?”

Connor arched a brow and for a moment Gavin could only think of his mother. “Yes, actually. Yes I do. About his cholesterol and his drinking and his gambling problem and all the other ways he mismanages his grief.” There was an accusation there and Gavin didn’t miss it.

“I’m not mismanaging anything,” Gavin fired back, more defensive than was wise, “and  _ my _ family’s still alive and well.”

“And the partner you lost?” Connor prompted.

His heart sank through the floor, finally quitting the field, too tired to keep up with the hills and valleys of his anxiety. He swallowed hard though his mouth was dry. Why the fuck was Connor bringing this up. Lucas's suicide was  _ two years _ ago. He'd had plenty of time to get over it. Gavin pointedly didn’t answer. One last stand of defiance.

“ _ Gavin.” _

“ _ Connor. _ ”

Seconds crawled past them. Tobias jumped on the coffee table to say hi to the android, but Connor ignored him. Or attempted to, but Gavin could see his fingers brush against the cat’s fur when it got close enough, even if the movement was subtle.

Connor was the first to give up, “Why are you fighting me? Surely I’ve proven to you by now that I want to help you.”

“Surely I’ve proven to  _ you _ that I want you to go away” Gavin shook his head and propped on foot on the table, ready to push it out right into Connor’s shins if he had to. “You can’t help me.”

“Not if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Is that what bothers you? Not knowing?” Gavin accused, “That you can’t just go through the archive and find the answers you want like you did with Anderson? My life’s not a fucking crime scene, Connor. There’s no clues to be had here.”

The android had the decency to look guilty. “I wasn’t-” he sighed, “I apologize. It was not my intent to come off that way.” And damn him that sounded genuine enough to sate the hunger of Gavin’s anger. “I’ll let it go. After today I won’t ask about it again.”

“Yeah well, don’t leave your bleeding heart on my rug when you leave. I don’t care if Thirium dries clear.”

But Connor made no move to leave, he only changed tactics. “You didn’t come in last night. Why?”

He wasn’t about to tell him that he’d forgotten what day it was. “I wasn’t on my game and I’d rather get chewed out for not calling in than screw up on the job,” he gestured to his shoulder, “You and I both know how  _ that _ shit works out.”

“Do you take anything to help you sleep?” he was wearing him down. Eroding Gavin’s resolve like so much seawater.

“No.” Honesty took less effort. “Over the counter shit doesn’t work for me. So I don’t bother.”

Connor produced a small, orange pill bottle, the label still intact, from his jacket pocket. It was still full. “Generic Zolpidem, low dose. You said you were prescribed these before. They should put you out for most of the day.”

Gavin blinked at him. “You sure that’s what’s in that bottle?”

With a flick of his fingers, the android turned the bottle so the label faced Gavin. His vision was too blurry to read it, but Connor said, “They’re Hank’s. He doesn’t take them because he’d rather drink, but they’re still good.”

Now for the better question, “Why?”

“It would appear I was wrong,” Connor said, portioning out a dose and then putting the bottle back in his pocket, “In suggesting you take time off. Your symptoms appear to have worsened.” Gavin wanted to bite back, but Connor didn’t give him an inch. “Maybe working is how you cope and you need sleep to do your job well.”

“And you care?”

“You’re a good detective when you want to be, Gavin. Maybe not when it comes to androids, but your records are as impressive as they are varied.”

The compliment sat strangely with Gavin. On one hand, it didn’t surprise him. He was an overachiever by nature and countered his ruthlessness with value. Sure, he couldn’t compete with Youngest-Lieutenant-Detroit-Had-Ever-Seen Anderson, but he was nothing to sneeze at. 

On the other hand the compliment was coming from  _ Connor _ a machine design specifically to be better at his job than he was. 

Maybe he was overthinking it. “Fine, hook me up, robocop.” He held out his hand. Connor dropped the two little purple tablets into his palm. They were different than the ones he’d been prescribed years ago. For all he knew, Connor could be lying or at least miscalculating again. The dose might kill him.

He tossed them back and swallowed them dry.

“Should kick in fully in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Connor sat on the arm of the couch a full cushion away from Gavin. “The fuck? You can leave now.”

“I want to make sure they work properly and you don’t start sleepwalking or something more dangerous. I’ll leave then. And I’ll pay to fix the chain on your door.”

“Damn straight you will.”

They sat in silence for a while. Gavin curled up on the couch, his back pressed to the unoccupied armrest. Tobias sat in Connor’s lap, the android petting him absently. It was a thick silence, like a fog of steam filling the living room around them, or some noxious gas waiting to ignite or poison them slowly. Gavin started to feel the tug of the sedatives, instinct tried to fight it and stubbornly stay awake.

“Gavin,” Connor said, giving his attention something to focus on other than the sludge gumming up his brain, “if you would humor me a moment, I’d like some clarification on something.”

“Sure, fine.”

“Thursday you mentioned something that struck me as odd. A comment about CyberLife.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“What did you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I fucking said.” Gavin grumbled, curling up a little tighter. “Seemed pretty clear to me.” Even if he couldn’t remember his exact wording now. 

Connor furrowed his brow. “Do you know specifically of something they tried to hide? Before the deviants.”

“I’m not answering that question without a lawyer.” For some reason that joke was way funnier out loud than it had been in his head.

Connor frowned at him. “You’ve also said some things that don’t really add up.”

Gavin chuckled at him, light-headed and still a little giddy. “Such as?”

“A few weeks ago, when we bumped into each other in town. I was out with Sumo, you were on your way home from a date-”

“It wasn’t a date,” Gavin interrupted.

“Date, hook-up, booty call, whatever you want to call it,” Connor soldiered on, “That’s not important, what _ is _ , is you told a story about how you dislocated your shoulder on a case and given yourself a concussion in the fall.”

Somewhere in his brain a siren was going off, but Gavin couldn’t place where it was coming from. “Yeah, what of it?” he heard his voice say.

“Is it the same head injury you mentioned Thursday?”

“What’s your point?”

“You were injured on a case, but the injury isn’t in your file.”  _ No. _ “You corrected yourself when you said you reached the top of the stairs. Your details were inconsistent with your correction.”  _ Oh no.  _ “You said your therapist claimed you were fabricating  memories.  You saw something in that attic. Something worth hiding. What was it?”

Gavin heard static. He tried to shake it out of his head. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Stop lying.”

“I don’t see why it matters.” Gavin couldn’t look at him anymore, overwhelmed with the irrational fear that if he blinked Connor would be different. Blue-eyed and mangled. “Even if it did I couldn’t tell you anyway.”

“Why not?”

Gavin’s control was slipping through his fingers. Every time he blinked, his eyes stayed closed a little longer. His voice acted independently of his brain now, slurring out, “Your company made us sign these… contracts to get androids on the crew. They had these big ass NDAs in ‘em. They came to my damn hospital room to make me sign mine. Confiscated everything they could get their hands on. Vetted the team, padded us with androids and wiped ‘em clean after.”

“What? Why?”

Another laugh bubbled its way out of him, “I thought you were supposed to be good at  _ deducing _ things,  _ detective _ .” When Connor didn’t say anything Gavin shrugged, “They wanted it to disappear and you don’t argue with a company that has its hands in every pie and more money than God. They said shut up and we shut up like good little soldiers.”

That answer seemed to stun Connor into silence and forced him to look away.

Gavin watched him, taking in the perfect lines of his profile in the low morning sunlight. The part of his lips, the curl of his hair. He felt lighter than air, better than he had in days,  _ weeks  _ even. Floating on crashing on waves but no longer seasick, just enjoying the ride.

“ _ Gavin _ .” Firm, desperate, struggling to get his attention. 

Gavin blinked his eyes open. “Uh huh?”

“When was this?”

“Oh for fuck-” he sank down into the pillow drifting again, “Let it die, Connor.”

A pause and when Gavin opened his eyes again Connor had moved from the arm of the couch to the edge of the coffee table. He was so close that Gavin could probably reach out and touch him if he he could get his body to cooperate fully. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“You just said, ‘let  _ her _ die, Connor’. What does that mean? Who are you referring to?”

Gavin took a second to process. That wasn’t what he’d said. Was it? No. That couldn’t be right. “No one. Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” 

After some silence, Connor started to get back up, presumably done with questions. In that quiet, Gavin tried to find that comfortable floating-on-waves feeling again, but it was gone. A tendril from below the water threatening to pull him under and hold him there. Drown him. He could hear static; syncopated, autotuned. Nightmares lying in wait. Questions he didn’t have answers to.

Wait. An idea struck him hard. It was stupid, especially when he considered everything that would come next but he was too close to sleep to worry about silly things like consequences. His brain was nearly jelly anyway. “Connor- Connor, hey. Do me a favor.” He could feel his heartbeat slowing.

“Yes?”

Gavin took a sharp breath through his nose and tired to focus through it. “Say something for me. Just- I say a phrase and you echo it back to me?”

“Why would-”

“Just humor me, Connor. Please?”

The android’s mouth thinned and he sat back down on the table. “Okay. What is it you want me to say?”

Gavin hesitated, suddenly uncertain of this path. He finally had the chance to hear those words in a different voice. In Connor’s easy, dulcet tones instead of the shredded tin foil and TV static through a concrete tunnel that had followed him for almost half a decade now. He opened his mouth, but choked on the words. It was just one little phrase. Five short words. He could do this. He  _ needed _ to do this, now, when he could blame the drugs for it later.

Connor nudged his shoulder, prompting him gently. With some force, Gavin managed to say it.

Connor reared back a little in surprise.

“Don’t-” Gavin tumbled, nervous and embarrassed and dangerously out of his own control. “I don’t want an answer, it’s what I want you to say. Like- Like you used to  _ know _ the answer, but don’t.”

Connor’s LED flashed a few colors. He waited until he could hold Gavin’s blurring gaze and with a little nod he said:

“Do you still love me?”

For the rest of his life, Gavin Reed would pretend he didn’t remember falling apart. He  _ certainly _ didn’t remember crying; one loud sniff, desperate to hold on, and then he was just gone, recoiling and curling in on himself. He’d call Connor a liar to his face if the android tried to argue. If confronted with any sort of video evidence he’d blame the sedatives, the sleep deprivation, or literally  _ anything _ other than the sudden, inescapable feeling of his very soul curdling and separating into its component parts.

He was wrong.

It hadn’t helped.

It just made it so much worse. So much more  _ real _ . A tangible thing. Actual words now instead of just noise. And now he could only hear them in Connor’s voice. And no, no. It wasn’t better. It wasn’t a relief. It was just one more blow, one more bruise, one more broken bone and nothing to show for it.

A hand pressed to the back of his neck, grip loose but heavy enough that Gavin couldn’t avoid noticing it. The side of thumb scraping along his hairline in slow, comforting passes. A gentle squeeze against tense muscle. Little, subtle comforts, contact and reassurance; a sign of stable ground nearby, something buoyant to keep him afloat just a little while longer that instinct had him clinging to. A port in a storm.

But it didn’t stop him from drowning. Every hiccup letting in more water, cutting off more air. 

He smelled linen and clean water and bitter plastic; felt the stiff fabric of Connor’s jacket against his cheek. “Breathe, Gavin.”

In, hold, out, repeat. Counts of two.

A different hand took him by the wrist. A solid warmth against his palm, rising and falling in time with each rush of air. 

The sedatives tugged him harder and he panicked trying to resist them now.

“You’re alright. Deep breaths.”

In, hold, out. Counts of four.

The hard acrylic of buttons against his hand as Gavin's muscles started to relax and his limbs went limp. The last thing he felt before his hand slipped away entirely was a vibration, like a cat’s purring, around Connor’s solar plexus. Powerful and close enough to the surface Gavin could feel it all the way up his arm. A heartbeat but faster, constant, soothing. 

Gavin -- unhelpfully, hilariously, bitterly-- remembered punching him there when Connor first started working with Anderson. How the android had shorted out and buckled.

In, hold, out. Counts of six.

His breathing evened out and Connor let him go. He felt himself being eased down, straightened, joints complaining as they finally let go of the last of their tension. He tried to blink his eyes open again, but it was beyond him.

He slipped under.


	7. Chapter 7

**MAY 03, 2039. 19:14:03**

 

The kitchen light was still on. Muted footsteps. A cabinet creaking. A faucet running. Tobias making a ruckus and being shushed in vain by a smooth voice.

_Blink_.

Pillow embroidery digging into his cheek. A flannel blanket pulled over him up to the shoulder. The ambiance of cars traversing the road outside his window. A weight against his back, like a stone, forcing him to sink deeper into the cushions.

_Blink_.

Lines of light and shadow cutting across his floor. The noise of construction in the distance. Paws kneading at his bad shoulder. His arm tingling and asleep. The faint smell of Thirium and the uncertainty of its reality. He tried to push himself up. A groan that might have come from him. Tobias jumping away. Vertical, sort of.

_Blink_.

The ceiling and something that felt suspiciously like clarity. He yawned into the back of his hand, stretching his good arm and twisting the stiffness out of his neck. When he straightened, Tobias looked up at him from the pillow. Gavin scratched him between the ears and focused on self-assessing. He felt rested, but his limbs were full of cement. His head was almost too heavy to keep upright, but pain free for the first time in a while. He didn’t remember going out for shots but he definitely felt like a post-shots Gavin. At least he’d made it to the couch this time.

It came back to him in pieces. His episode at the office, asking Fowler for the time off, a sleepless bender of a weekend. Voicemails. Gavin scrambled to dig his phone out of the couch only to notice that it wasn’t there after dislodging one cushion and his cat. It was on the coffee table, next to a full glass of water bleeding condensation onto a coaster.

He remembered a knock on his door. Gavin looked up as he unlocked his phone; the lock chain was still dangling, broken, in the frame. The deadbolt open. He glanced back down; no new notifications. But, there at the top of his inbox: _Break Glass [C]_ from midnight the previous night.

Then it was flooding back. The door, the argument, the accusations, Connor knowing about Lucas, Connor offering him meds, needling him with questions about the attic.

_Humor me, Connor._

“Fuck-”

Gavin leapt to his feet, only to have to sit back down immediately when his vision went dark. He forced himself up again when the rage finally worked its way into his blood. He tossed his apartment like he had a warrant for it, scaring Tobias into the bathroom in the process. Nothing missing, nothing moved. Gavin’s list of secrets worth looking for whittled down to one.

He dressed in something clean to cover up the fact that he hadn’t showered in two days, but didn’t even attempt to make himself work-presentable. It might not matter anyway.

Connor knew the new case number. It might have passed to a normal person as a wifi password but not someone built to find patterns and similarities in things. Gavin tried to comfort himself with the idea that Connor didn’t know his password and couldn’t get in without fingerprints.

He remembered that Anderson outranked him, and thus could get into any of his files, about halfway to his car.

He called Anderson on the drive there.

“ _Hi, this is Hank. Not here at the moment. You can leave a message if that’s what turns you on, but-”_

He hung up and tried again.

Voicemail again.

Gavin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white. “Motherfucker,” he muttered while the recording played, “I am going to slit your throat.” He hung up just before Anderson’s sarcastic " _Beep”_ and tried again.

“Gavin? Isn’t it a little early for your one phone c-”

He didn’t have time for this shit. “Has your android been in the evidence locker?”

“The fuck? Why the Hell do you care?”

Gavin grit his teeth, feeling the corners of his mouth twist up. “Just,” he tried his best not to shout but he was getting steadily louder. “Just answer the fucking question, Hank. It’s important.”

Hank didn’t answer immediately. Gavin could feel the individual threads of his already limited restraint fraying. When Hank spoke again, voice was far away, slightly muffled but still close enough for Gavin to hear him. “ _What did you do?”_  he asked someone that clearly wasn’t Gavin.

So Anderson didn’t know. Maybe there was hope. Maybe Connor’s visit had truly been innocuous after all. This was manageable.

Connor’s voice: “ _What was that_?”

Gavin lost control a little, “FUCKING _TODAY_ , ANDERSON!” But screaming in the privacy of his car did make him feel a little better.

“ _Ow! Jesus -fuck- okay... Did you go into evidence when I was out at lunch?”_

Connor, a little distracted and innocent as ever, “ _Yes. Why?”_

“ _Because Gavin sounds like he wants to rip_ your _arm off and beat_ me _to death with it.”_

“ _Oh. You’re-”_

Gavin hung up.

The world beyond his windshield split in two and he pulled over. Oh, this was bad. He was _fucked_.

On some level, Gavin blamed himself. He should have expected this the moment he let Connor into his home. He should have never let him in the first place. One would think after an entire adult life spent around nosy motherfuckers he’d learn his lesson. Or, at least, learn to ignore that nihilistic urge to put his damning secrets where people could see them.

A part of him had just hoped that the invasion of his privacy would happen when it was too late to be ruinous.

His phone started to buzz in its holder on the dashboard. He unclipped it and very seriously considered chucking it out the passenger side window as hard is his arm could manage. He settled for just throwing it over his shoulder into the backseat.

Gavin pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and tried to take deep breaths, but every one came out in a seething hiss through his teeth. Five years. _Five years_ and nothing had slipped through the cracks and then Connor comes in and takes a sledgehammer to the wall. He took a deep breath and held it until his chest hurt and he could feel his heartbeat in his temples.

He pulled back out onto the road continuing out toward the precinct. Gavin Reed, like every other Reed before him, wasn’t raised a quitter and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to start running from his problems now. That ship had sailed a long time ago, there was no catching up to it. But if he was going to drown he was going to take at least one person down with him.

In the parking garage, Gavin avoided his reflection. He scrubbed at his eyes, tried to brush down his hair and put his best game face on. There was no pretending he’d performed any of the normal life functions that might have made him look a little less like death. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was known for being clean cut and anyone that might have chastised him for cleanliness would linger in his circle today.

Standing made him realize just how exhausted he still was. Fury and adrenaline only took a man so far.

“Gavin.”

Whatever cautious optimism Gavin might have psyched into himself in the car evaporated. He spun in place and spotted Connor a good distance away and coming closer in long, precise strides. The android stopped short when he was finally face-to-face with Gavin, a half-car length and a lane of road away. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. What little rational thought Gavin had to spare thought of the garage’s security cameras. There was bound to be one that could see them, even if the posts of the attendants were out of range. He didn’t know where the blind spots were, but he took some solace in the fact that the whole system didn’t have audio.

Gavin glared daggers at Connor as he slipped out of the parking space. He wasn’t going to engage. He was going to pretend nothing had happened, talk to Fowler, and then get his revenge when it was just the two of them and the androids.

But Connor stepped in front of him. “Gavin, please.”

“ _Move._ ”

For a split second, Connor glanced to the side, considering it. “Gavin, we can talk about this.”

“ _Later._ ”

“Gavin,” why did he keep saying his name? “I don’t want there to be some kind of scene in-”

Something in Gavin, some threadbare thing, some rubber band overused and stretched to its limit in the most irrational parts of his brain, snapped. The world went red and out of focus. He blinked and he had a hand on Connor’s shoulder. A breath and he’d hooked his leg behind the android and used every ounce of strength he had to knock him from his feet. Surprise worked out in Gavin’s favor. Connor went down hard against the pavement.

The android was on his back. Gavin put a foot on his chest and leveled his gun so the sight lined up right between Connor’s eyebrows, ready to pierce a perfect hole in that pretty face.

“Wait-”

“You come into my _home_ ,” it wasn’t Gavin’s voice talking. It was something deep from the pit of his chest; the growl of a cornered, feral animal. “You _drug_ me for information but you don’t want anyone to _know_.”

“That’s not what that was.” Connor raised his hands, placating, submitting to Gavin’s anger in a way that only made the burning knot in his chest tighter. “You’ve been bad shape for a while now. I was there to help you.”

Gavin leaned more weight into the foot on Connor’s chest. He didn’t care that it wasn’t doing anything, that Connor couldn’t feel pain or be short of breath. “And you thought the best way to help me was to weasel a confession CyberLife’s been gunning for out of me? Classy.”

“I don’t work for CyberLife anymore.” Connor’s LED flickered between yellow and red. “Please. Don’t don’t do something you’ll regret.”

_Click._

The opportunity was there. He had more than enough bullets for himself and Connor both, but his hand refused to squeeze.

“I understand your fear,” Connor said when it was evident that Gavin was done talking.

“The fuck you do.”

“They’re going to replace me.” the android said before Gavin could finish, “They’ve got a new model going straight to the FBI. Built on commission after the Revolution. Made to be better than me in every possible way. Machine to its core.”

“Awful lot of intel for someone that doesn’t work for them anymore.”

“Perkins told me.” The fires of Gavin’s rage dimmed; all he could see was the way Connor’s face had gone blank when Perkins had leaned over his desk.  Why was Connor telling him this? “I hold no loyalties to them.” the android plowed on, conviction growing with every sentence. “They used me and when I wouldn’t do what they wanted they tried to neutralize me. Humans aren’t the only ones at risk, Gavin. It’s _everyone_ that doesn’t conform.”

If what he was saying as true, it meant there’d be no resurrection for him. Death would be just as permanent for him as it was for Gavin and something better, something soulless, would step up to fill the space.

Equal footing.

His hand started to tremble. If there was ever a time to do this it was now.  Connor stared him down; not brave, but fearless. LED a steady red now. Gavin adjusted his grip, steeled himself.

In, hold, out. Counts of two.

Heartbeats ticked by. He took a deep breath and held it. He tried to visualize pulling the trigger, the splatter of blue across Connor's fair skin. The way his face would go blank. The way this constant nagging and bothersome queries would finally fucking end.

Something cramped up in his chest again; tight and breathless enough to feel like another panic attack. Like a slow, unstoppable death.

He couldn’t do it. With a sharp, bitten down curse, Gavin holstered his gun and turned away.

Pavement crunching as Connor got to his feet. “I never meant to take advantage, Gavin. I wanted help. You have to believe me.”

“I never asked for your help,” Gavin snarled at him. He might not be able to shoot but he could yell and bark until he went hoarse. “I never asked for anyone’s fucking help!”

Connor’s hands clenched at his sides. “What am I supposed to do? Watch you self-destruct?”

“Yes! That is _exactly_ what you’re supposed to do. Mind your fucking _place_ and for once _follow a goddamn order_ and let me-!”

“No!” Connor’s voice thundered between concrete and cars. The sheer volume of it pulling Gavin up short. By the time the echo stopped, something clicked into place like a lens falling in front of his eyes and bringing the world back into sharp focus. It sucked the air right out of the room, snuffing his fury out like a grease fire. “No,” Connor said again, softer. His LED sputtering back to blue. “I won’t willingly blind myself to the suffering of others now that I have the power to choose. You can resist me all you want, Gavin. But I will match you for stubbornness. Every day if I must. Just like I do with Hank.”

Words didn’t come. Gavin felt the adrenaline slipping away, dripping off him, and leaving him lighter, emptier, exhausted in its wake. He let out a slow breath and leaned against the trunk of his car. “Why would even want to help me? You gain nothing from it,” he heard his voice say, “No one gains anything from it.” a shaky little laugh, “Hell, three people are gonna show up to my funeral, Connor and that’s three fuckin’ people too many.”

“Why do you hate yourself this much?” Again with that oxygen-stealing sincerity.

Every muscle in Gavin’s chest wound up at once. What did he have to lose at this point? Connor already knew everything else. What was one more nail in the coffin? “Because no one likes a coward, Connor. Not even the cowards.”

“You aren’t a coward, Gavin.”

“I let a bunch of men in suits tell me-.” He tried to argue but instead something else started to tumble out, “Six kids were dead. _Children_ , Connor. And those fuckers told us to lie to their parents. To say we knew nothing when all they wanted were answers. To give them _ashes_ and closed-casket funerals because a choice few didn’t want to admit their newest boon to humanity-”  every breath stuck in his throat just shy of being useful, “Was... Because they didn't want anyone to know that this woman had bought an android to _practice on_ . I went along with that, Connor. I can’t take that back now. I can’t take that back _ever_. I’m stuck with that until the day I die.” And probably some time after.

“Why sign if you felt this way? Why not go to the press? Anyone?”

“Because I-” Gavin looked away, “Because I love my job, Connor. I’ve wanted this ever since I was little. I love what I do even if I hate the people I do it with. I mean, we _found_ those kids didn’t we? We put their killer away. Job well done in the end.

“Saying no put that all at risk. It put a target on me to be first, because that’s what’s gonna happen in the end, right? All of us getting replaced with perfect little machines no one has to pay or support or worry about. That can be wiped clean of damning evidence and do no wrong. It was safer to just… let it go. Let it die.”

Connor was leading him now, “But you didn’t let it go. You held onto it for years.”

Gavin folded his arms across his chest and stared at a spot on the ground. His ears were ringing again. “If the rest of the world didn’t get to know the truth, I sure as fuck wasn’t going to forget.”

“I’m sure that counts for something.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me, Connor.”

They stood in tense, awkward silence for a while after that. Gavin was too tired to move and he didn’t know why Connor was staying. Probably to keep an eye on him in case he did something else that was stupid.

“ ‘Ey! The fuck you two idiots doing?” Anderson’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him. Every step he took grated on Gavin’s mangled nerves. “Whoa, you look like you got hit by a bus.”

Gavin flipped him off, not looking up from his little spot on the ground, “Eat my entire ass, Anderson.”

“Lovely.” Anderson turned his attention to Connor. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on? You’ve been gone so long I was starting to think he shot you.”

“We were discussing a case,” Connor said.

Every voice in Gavin’s mind started screaming all at once; sirens, terror, static, all of it. So sudden and so loud his eyes started to roll back. He coughed and tried to shake the feeling but it persisted. He might have managed to get out an affirmative-sounding grunt though. It was hard to tell.

“Yeah. That don’t sound suspicious at all. What case?” he could feel Anderson looking between them. “Must be a big deal to have you two getting along.”

It was like he was fourteen again watching his parents make eye contact with his first boyfriend and trying to figure out how to not get outed. Only considerably worse in his opinion. This secret just hanging in the air, out of his reach. The kind of secret that made enemies so powerful they could make his own family forget his face. The truth was all he could think about. The fact that Connor knew it now. The fact that _Connor_ trusted Hank enough to tell him even if Gavin didn’t.

He braced himself.

“I’ve been trying to steal the Zlatko case from him for months,” Connor said, which was news to Gavin. He’d never even _heard_ of a Zlatko case. “Markus asked me to look into it months ago, said he’d heard some things about deviant involvement, but Gavin’s been obstinate about it. Things got a bit _heated_.” The lie came together with no effort at all like he’d scripted it ages ago. “I may have crossed a line and stolen his password while he was sick to try and obfuscate my poking around in the evidence he’d gathered.”

Anderson immediately set into scolding Connor, the android making a play at defending himself, and Gavin just sort of tuned it out until he heard his name, “Gavin and I have reached a compromise now. Right?”

He’d missed the details, but a his default answer of, “Yeah, sure. If it’ll get you off my dick,” seemed to work just fine.

The lieutenant bought it and on Connor’s word that they just needed to exchange a few more notes before everything was squared away, backed off. Hank scowled at him, said “We roll out in twenty” and walked away.

Connor watched him leave. Gavin watched Connor, waiting, sinking his teeth into the inside of his lip. When brown eyes turned to his, Gavin said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“You want something.”

“I do.”

“Name it.”

Connor thought about it for a moment. “One more question about the locker, if I may?”

“You may _not_.” Gavin said.

But Connor posed his question anyway, “If CyberLife confiscated all the records for their internal investigation, how did you manage to hold onto your body cam long enough to purposely misfile it?”

Okay, as far as questions went, that one wasn’t so bad. “I didn’t. Between the… head injury and that mangled-" he choked on the words, "well, I’m assuming you watched the footage,” Connor nodded, “Then you saw it. I wasn’t doing so hot. I-” Gavin sighed, “I might have thrown up in Lucas’s car. Not my proudest moment.” He straightened his back a little, “Somewhere in the chaos of getting my vest off and trying not to die, it must have fallen off. And Lucas’s car was the goddamn Bermuda Triangle. You drop something in it, it was _gone_.

“I don’t know if he found it after and hid it or if CyberLife just couldn’t get permission to search his personal vehicle, but-” a twinge, somewhere below his heart, “But I didn’t see it again until his wife asked for my help going through his things after --y’know- and I just never turned it in.” Gavin let the story sink in before adding, “Connor, can I ask _you_ a question?”

“Of course.”

“What-” how did he want to phrase this, “What do you plan on _doing_ with this information?”

Connor didn’t even have to think about it, “I’d like to use it to help you. But, barring that, I suppose it could always be used as further blackmail.” Gavin must have looked confused because Connor clarified, “Valentine’s Day? You do know I commit everything I see to video footage and store it forever, right?” He winked at him.

It was absolutely disgusting.

“Fantastic.” Gavin grumbled.

Connor’s coy smirk fell. “I do genuinely think this could help you.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know _me_.” Argumentative to the last. It was the Reed family way.

“No, but I’d like to.”

“Bullshit.”

Connor shook his head, laughing, “When I came back to the DPD, I said I wanted to know everyone I was going to be working with. Everyone includes you, Gavin. Even if you are an unrepentant, absolutely insufferable, asshole.”

That got a laugh out of Gavin. Maybe the android  _did_ know him a little. Maybe he  _could_ be of some help. Gavin wasn't about to get his hopes up, but stranger things had happened to him. He watched as Connor walked away, off to rejoin with Anderson and whatever it was they had to do. He let his gaze linger on the corner even after the android disappeared around it. Silence settled in, but it was an easier kind. A lighter kind. Just a hair shy of comfortable.

Gavin dug through his back seat to retrieve his phone; saved once again from accidental destruction by the case. He plopped down in the backseat and sent a single quick message to Maggie before heading off to, most likely, have Fowler rip him a new asshole before his shift started.

_Still alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little nervous about this one.
> 
> Epilogue's on its way.  
> I need some sleep, tho.


	8. Epilogue

**OCT. 07, 2039. 20:00:49**

 

Maggie flicked at the new security chain with her free hand on her way in. When he glanced up at the sound she pointed and asked, “Someone break in?”

“Something like that.”

“Cryptic,” She took off her coat and draped it over the back of the couch. She’d cut her hair since the last time he’d seen her in person; dyed it back to its original dark brown too. Still in the same clothes from last year; all dark colors and sharp lines that never really went out of style made obnoxious by kitschy hipster scarves that were never  _ in _ style. Because, of course, Maggie believed in healthy compromises.

She scurried into the kitchen to see what he was cooking, disguising it as a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Hank and Connor filed in after her, the android carrying a case of beer, the human shaking rain out of his jacket. Hank paused at the door to take in the place. He'd only ever seen it drunk or hungover. Connor lingered with him a second; he’d dressed down, a soft sweater replacing his usual solid grey suit jacket over a crisp white shirt. He’d switched out the CyberLife one back in May for something more plain; though Connor  _ did _ embroider his model and serial number above the breast pocket in tiny print at some point the Made In Detroit logo usually hidden behind a blue pocket square. The sweater suited him better, but Gavin wasn’t about to tell him that.

“I still can’t believe you invited other people,” Maggie said as she attempted to stuff a pink box into his freezer. He knew there was room, had made sure of it that morning, but had also purposely left things in her way to make her work for it. “Since when do you have friends?”

“I’ll have you know I have quite a few friends.”

“Not even Gran’s goulash can cover up the stink of your lies.”

Gavin snorted. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

She did, only to quickly be replaced by Connor setting the case on his counter. Gavin pretended not to notice it was the brand that usually occupied his fridge instead of that deer piss swill Hank contented himself with drinking  “Where do you want these?”

It was all so painfully domestic. So aggressively normal. Gavin wasn’t sure what to do with himself without friction or conflict, but there was no need, no opportunity, to bring it up. Connor followed his instructions without argument. Maggie and Hank made small talk in the living room. Eventually Hank vanished into Gavin’s bathroom. Maggie wandered down the hall in search of a certain cat who had yet to come out and say hello to the guests. 

Which left them alone together for the first time in two weeks.

Connor pushed his sleeves up and rested his forearms on the counter. Gavin glanced over, eyes drawn to motion on his periphery and stole a few seconds of ogling while the android wasn’t looking back at him. It truly was not fair that he was so pretty. Those skinny jeans were a testament to mankind’s hubris, Gavin was sure of it.

“How have you been sleeping?” Connor asked quietly so his voice wouldn’t carry down the hall.

Gavin considered the question. It didn’t strike such a raw nerve with him anymore. Hell, it barely struck him at all. He might as well have asked Gavin about the weather he’d become so desensitized. If Gavin bothered to think of the reasons behind that he’d probably chalk it up to sheer repetition, but there was more there. A comforting non-judgment, like Connor wanted a status, a data point, but expected no improvement. Like he wanted to know if he needed to set aside an hour in his day for lunch plans. Concern, but not  _ worry _ .

It was refreshing in its way. Even if on the bad weeks it meant Connor would hover more and swap out his coffee for decaf when he wasn’t looking, or swing by his house to hook him up with sleep aids when he started looking really ill.

“Better,” he said and it was true. He’d had a good week, well, by his admittedly low standards anyway. “Still shit, but better.”

“Good to hear.”

A comfortable quiet. The sound of running water behind a wall. The soft  _ thump _ of something hitting the floor in the bedroom. Gavin noticed Connor watching his hands as he worked, committing the steps to memory.

“You coming back on nights or am I alone forever?” Gavin asked to distract from the tingling feeling of being studied.

“Soon,” Connor said with certainty. “We’re close to a break, I can tell, just don’t know where. After that we might have some time to relax and I can stick around.”

Gavin hated to admit it, but he’d started to miss having Connor on those nights when there was nothing to actively look into. There weren’t many of them, which made each one keenly felt. 

Sometimes it was just bickering and sniping at each other from across the bullpen. Sometimes Gavin moved what he could to Anderson’s empty desk and got Connor to run numbers for cases or fact check things on the fly. Others it was 3 a.m. runs for decent coffee and cheap waffle fries that ended in the pair of them on the trunk of Gavin’s car, parked on the highest level of the garage talking until a call came in or they’d drained an hour. Topics varied from current cases, to the ever-evolving deviant situation, to the attic and cover up, but all the conversations shared a common easiness once they’d found a routine. 

To the surprise of both of them, that routine had initially happened over the most unlikely of subjects: their mutual hatred of Richard Perkins and his new pet android. 

Sensitive topics were let go if they went too long without a response. Advice and opinions allowed to hang in the air without need for rebuttal.  At one point, about a month ago, Gavin might have volunteered details on his nightmares. Even going so far as to tell Connor, “Sometimes you’re in them instead of Lucas… sometimes you replace the YK.” It had been the only time Connor’s responding silence had stung.

Neither brought it up again.

“You know,” Hank said as he rejoined them, “I’m still surprised you invited us, Gavin.”

“I may have had ulterior motives.” Gavin confessed. Hank gave him a wary look and, he shrugged “I always end up making more food than I can handle and I don’t want to pack things up for Maggie to take home. Also, I have plans for Connor.”

“Plans?” Connor straightened to his full height.

Gavin lowered his knife and leaned over the counter to see if Maggie was coming down the hall. “I needed someone with an eye for patterns and quick reflexes to help me dethrone my sister as Queen of Egyptian Ratscrew. She’s held the title for  _ years _ . And is  _insufferable_ about it. I might not be able to best her myself, but at least I can orchestrate her downfall.”Will you help me, Connor?”

Connor quirked up a brow, “What’s in it for me?”

“On one night of your choosing, so long as I’m not working, I will come to Anderson’s house and cook dinner from scratch. I’ll pay for it and everything.”

Hank started laughing. “God, I knew your family was competitive, Gavin, but this takes the fuckin’ cake.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

“What’s this I hear,” Maggie called, slinking into the living room with Tobias perched on her shoulders, “about someone challenging my title?”

Overall, Gavin couldn’t help but call the evening a success. Even if Maggie ended up with a broken finger by the end of it. Gavin had attempted to warn both Connor and Hank when she demanded a two-out-of-three rematch that things might get messy. Only Hank listened to him though. Connor was mortified and no amount of good sportsmanship or laughter on Maggie’s part could get him to make eye contact with her for the rest of the night, even when the android hastily splinted the break with bits from Gavin’s first-aid kit.

Eventually the rowdiness died down enough for dessert plates to come down. Connor accompanied him to the kitchen to make himself scarce, Tobias trailing behind him.

“So it  _ was _ a cake,” Connor said when Gavin retrieved the box from the freezer. "She refused to tell us what was in it when we bumped into her." He tried to open it while Gavin filled a pitcher with hot water and got smacked on the back of the hand with the flat of a knife for the effort. 

“God you’re as bad as a dog. So fuckin’ nosy.” Gavin laughed, crowding the android out of the way. “And it’s not  _ a _ cake. No, this is a mocha ice cream cake from Oak and Blackbird.” It was the only place anyone in his family bought cakes anymore, run by a friend of the family; not that they bought them often. Fuckers were  _ expensive _ . When Connor gave him a bemused little sideways glance, Gavin leaned in close and said; “It’s bitter and a little boozy and,” he dropped his voice low, pulling it from deep in the chest, “the single most decadent thing you will ever put in your mouth.”

Connor’s brow ticked up.

Though his feelings weren’t exactly common knowledge, Gavin had given up flustering himself hiding them and occasionally something slipped out. Usually they both just ignored it; though sometimes Connor would take a shot at him with some scathing joke, and Gavin would busy himself with more important things or just give him the silent treatment for a few hours.

Gavin pulled back, dipping his knife in the hot water, “Well, maybe not  _ you _ specifically, but you get the idea.” 

He opened the box with his free hand. It wasn’t a large cake by any stretch, Gavin might get six slices out of it if he was stingy which he had no intention of being. The matte coating of chocolate over the whole thing had already started to sweat in the heat of his kitchen.

“Get a fuckin’ move on,” Maggie appeared at the counter long enough to refill her coffee cup with straight milk and steal the first plated slice on the counter, “We don’t have all night, princess.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored her. Dipping his knife into the pitcher he cut and set two more aside. After the last cut though, he held the knife out to Connor. Streaks of deep brown and white clung to the blade. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at the android lest his face heat up and give him away. But Connor seemed to get the message, swiping his middle finger down the edge just barely shy of the blade.

Gavin cleared his throat and started putting things away. When he looked up both Connor and one plate had moved back to the living room. 

As far as get-togethers went, this one wasn’t so bad. Sure, it wasn’t a rowdy New Years’ party with his old team, but it beat out Christmas with his family by a long shot. A happy medium, quiet and subdued, genuine in conversations and hospitality. No one taking anything too seriously, least of all themselves. No one talking about work or family or future. Or past for that matter. He could get used to this sort of thing, he thought. Not used to it enough to make it a regular occurrence, but enough that he wouldn’t dread it when it showed up on his calendar.

At the end of the night, Gavin held the door open as his guests filed out. Tobias perched on his shoulder chirping at everyone in one last, desperate bid at attention. 

Maggie pressed a kiss to his cheek and butted heads with Tubbs, promising to call when she made it home. Connor swept past with a curt little nod. Hank clapped him on the back, nearly dislodging the cat. “One more year down. Sixty to go.”

“Bold of you to assume I planned to live that long.”

“You’re starting to sound like me.”

Gavin put a hand to his chest and really exaggerated his look of horror. He leaned against the door and watched them go. Maggie and Anderson making small talk, Connor taking up the rear. Then, just as Gavin was shutting the door, he heard Connor’s voice echo up the causeway, “One second.”

“Goddamn it, Connor.” 

Gavin nearly failed in his attempt not to laugh at the frustration in Hank’s voice. He put Tobias on the floor, worked on his best smug grin and waited, one hand on the doorknob ready to slam it in Connor’s face. He clicked his tongue and shook his head when he saw the android jogging up the stairs. “Turn around, Ava. Whatever you left here is mine now. Them’s the breaks.”

“Actually,” Connor said, wringing his hands together and stopping dangerously close. “I realized I’d forgotten to give you your gift. Such things are customary, even if the recipient's a huge jerk.”

That got a genuine noise of surprise out of Gavin. He hadn’t expected  _ gifts _ at all. The cake and beer had been plenty in his opinion and, if he was perfectly honest, he really hated gifts. But, he was in a good humor and decided to let the android have his fun. “Alright, fine. What is it?”

Without further warning, Connor took him by the side of the neck and tugged gently. The intent, Gavin was sure, was to press a kiss to his cheek, but Gavin hadn’t suffered fantasies for almost a year to let him get away with something so chaste. He turned into it, catching the android’s mouth in his own.

He wasn’t getting any younger, might as well live a little.

To his surprise, Connor didn’t pull away, or shove him back. Didn’t offer up even a token resistance when Gavin took his face in his hands and nearly pulled him back into the apartment. Connor lacked the softness Gavin had grown used to cycling through lovers. There was a gentle vibration to him, the whir of machinery working its very hardest. Some aggressive coaxing, and his tongue slid past dull, straight teeth.

It was then that Gavin realized his error.

A sharp, bright burn lit up across his tongue, bitter enough to be physically painful. It sucked the air right out of his throat and sunk its flags in  _ everywhere _ the roof of his mouth, under his tongue, in his nose, down his windpipe. He backpedaled with a strangled noise, coughing and choking, doubling over as his mouth filled with water trying to flush the offending substance out. “What the  _ fuck _ -”

“Gavin-”

His tongue started to tingle, officially numb. “For fucks-” he spit a mouthful of thin saliva onto the concrete and that helped a little, “Why the fuck do you taste like floor polish?”

Realization dawned across Connor’s face. “My analytics system. It has to sterilize its components after every use.”

“Sterilize-”

“With a 0.5% sodium hypochlorite solution.” He said, looking a little guilty.

Oh  _ Hell _ no. “Get out. Get the fuck out of my house and never come back. God is  _ testing _ me right now with this bullshit.”

Connor tried to apologize but was already laughing too much for it to be sincere. “I thought you knew-”

“If I knew,” Gavin hissed, “I wouldn’t have ended up with fucking bleach in my mouth.” He started to wave Connor away, “You are no longer welcome here, fuck off!”

He left, still trying to muffle his laughter. Gavin heard Hank’s exasperated, “What did you do now?” but shut the door before he heard Connor’s answer. He made a beeline to the sink to rinse his mouth out. When the worst of it was gone he pressed his forehead to the lip of the counter, bent at the waist, watching Tobias weave between his feet.

And he just started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! It's done! That was a fuckin' challenge.
> 
> Also, a quick note, I mentioned this in the comments already but the song that crops up in Chapters 1 and 4 is a real one called [ Herzdieb (Heart Thief) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqLqRRdZEJg) [Link goes to Youtube if y'all wanna listen to it.] 
> 
> Other than that, there really isn't anything else left to say? Just thanks again for supporting my nonsense and letting me make Gavin suffer for a while.


End file.
